May 7, 2017

The only Home I want is Me. {Poem}

I’ve always thought of home
as a reflection of the inner state of one’s mind

For myself, I picture
bathroom tiles white and shiny, polished hardwood floors
bare and clean, sunlight from the windows
sharp as the edge of a knife

an ample, neatly made bed, buoyant with blankets and pillows
a tidy array of cosmetics on the vanity, a pretty bottle of perfume,
mirrors like open windows to infinity,
watermelon and juicy blackberries in the fridge,
pen and paper on the desk

a door to the outside, made only of light and shadow

clean, sparse, beautiful

Reality is
dirt-caked venetian blinds
mold between the slats of hardwood flooring
stiff, rusty door hinges that seep red when wet

I sleep with all the lights on
as though the light from the room
will filter into my dreams

I long for sunlight, for red stilettos,
and smooth shapely legs

To walk out the door into another life

But in the end,
the only home I want
is me.



Author: Carella R. Keil
Image: rinchan089/Deviantart
Editor: Callie Rushton

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