Home (A Prosy Piece)

I spent my first 8 years calling a prison my home. I spent my next 7 thinking there was no way out. Looking out at the busy world beyond those walls; breathing in the cool night air at 3 AM, when everything was still and quiet. Leaning longingly over that 12th story balcony, thinking maybe, just maybe, I might finally fall. The asphalt below held such promise for me. So, why then, did I call this home? Because I didn’t yet understand that home is a state of mind. That home is not physical or local. Home is not any one place, a house or a town. Home is within us; it’s always there if we can find it. I’m 19 now and I finally understand. I spent the past 3 years searching for something I always had, I just couldn’t see it. No matter where I am or how bad things get I can always go home because: home is the place we care about, it’s the people who love us. Home is the things that make us happy.

Do you know what hate is? True hate? A friend enlightened me. Now, you can’t hate a person, not really, truly hate them; you can fix people. No. A hate, a genuine hate, is a fact or a circumstance or anything you don’t like that you are powerless to change. For so long I thought I hated a person more than anything but I was wrong. If all else failed, I could’ve fixed him. No, my greatest hate, which has been there my entire life, is that… the only homes I have ever known, have never been my own. And, I believe I’ll always carry that with me, that I always hated every place I’ve ever lived; that safety abandoned me when I was young, cutting short the precious age of innocence. My second greatest hate, well… That’s another story all together.

I know now it doesn’t matter where I sleep at night or how much I hate it. As long as I have people who care about me and things that make me happy, even though it’s sometimes hard to remember, I will always have a home. In fact, I have many homes, so I will always have a safe place to land. Home is not the house I live in. Home is not any one zip code or abbreviation. My home is in all of the hearts that hold a piece of mine.

So many people spend their whole lives searching for something they may never find… because they’re looking in all the wrong places. We always look outside ourselves when, oftentimes, the only place to find what we think we need is already there inside of us just waiting to be realized.

My journey, the search for home lasted 19 years. I went from naive to angry to hopeless to crushed to numb to unaware to surprised to smacked in the face with god damn brutal reality. And, actually, angry happened more than once on that ride. But I’m one of the lucky ones. It only took me 19 years to find what I think everybody searches for at one point or another. If you think about it, 19 years feels like eternity while you’re actually living it; especially if you can hardly stand living it. But, once it’s behind you and you can look back… actually, never mind. I just looked back and it was a cruel and brutal and insanely long 19 years. But, I’ve got the rest of my life ahead of me. Or, I could die right this minute. If I live for another 30 years or another 30 seconds, I won’t have died searching. I know where my home is, I found it. I’m a lucky one. I’m lucky not just because I found the true meaning of home while I’m still young, but also because I don’t wish to change the ride that brought me here to this understanding. Sure, the ride was rough, but I’m here now because of it… and I wouldn’t change a thing. Well, I might but I know that if changed anything I wouldn’t be the same person I am now and I’m happy with the person I am now so if I had the chance, I’d pass.

Welcome home. Turns out, no matter where I lived, for the past 4 years, I’ve always been home… I just couldn’t see it. And if you had told me that 10 years ago, when I was 9, I would’ve laughed in your face. Oh well, learning takes time. Sometimes, for the lesson to really stick, you can’t learn from other people’s mistakes; you’ve got to make those mistakes for yourself.

So, it turns out, home is something that no one can ever take away from us. Go figure.

_ _ _ _

I called it prison, they call it home. Oh well, two each his own.

Broken Home [A Poem]

Here we go again
No room left to pretend

The word ‘love’
Is just junk
It’s meant to cover up

The scars and the bruises
Of fights day and night
The mental abuses
It just isn’t right

Surviving together
In this torture room
This shattered home
Can provide no room

To breath but to see
Hearts of soot and ash
When the cold took over
It broke them in half

Strangle me
Stab me
Swallow me whole

Spit me out
String me up
Drop me hard down a hole

Let me crash and burn
But never learn
The sins of this home
The lie that is ‘love’

It never ends
Like a carnival ride
Round and round
And up and down

Never let me drown
Just choke for a little while
Then pull me up
And whip my back

Then start again
On the next go round

I can’t get off
This merry-go-round
In Frankenstein’s carnival
No mercy can be found

Like jungle cats
We fight in silence
Tearing to shreds
‘Til it rains down red

The acid in the blood
Which pours like a flood
Burns my wounded back
Where you whipped me
As revenge for my subtle attack

I knew by now
You could be so cruel
But to turn your back
Your subtle attack
For a simple question
I need not have asked

The silence ringing in my ears
It’s scathing tone buries me whole
In soot and ash
And prolongs your attack

All the shards
From the windows and walls
Of our broken home
They envelope my soul
And take me into the fold

Bury me in this mold
As the one who couldn’t go

Freeze me in time
As the failure
Who couldn’t get out
To save her own soul

But chained to a wall
She fell through the floor
She rotted away

Had she ever been there at all?

The victim of a broken home
The subtle abuses
They ate through her soul

Not breathing but seeing
The monster’s true form
Left on her own
In this permanently broken home

Can’t live with
Can’t afford to live without

Then die together
In the torture room
Of this irrevocably broken home

……

Round and round
On the merry-go-round
Frankenstein’s carnival
Has taken you down