home is a person

i’ve been trying to go home my whole life. when i was a child i was taught that home is a place, with four walls, a roof, and apparently i was living in it. trouble always found me and i found myself getting lost and making a home out of everything i found.

i thought i could call you my home. my refuge. it was ours. but it doesn’t feel like it anymore. i sleep by the door almost every night but never open the door. i’m scared to know if it’s locked. i lost the key to our home. i can’t get in unless u push me in. i feel so unwelcomed.

remind me that you love me still even though i’m constantly changing with the seasons and it’s ok if i flip like a calendar page.

when im bruised, tell me that purple, then green, then yellow is your favorite color. then fall in love with my skin all over again.

when i shed my skin. let me grow into the new me. but love me like you loved the old me.

when it’s cold. please slip me on and remind me that my fire won’t burn us alive.

i am so soft for you that i’ll become the shape of your hands if you just hold me.

yet i’m so fragile. touch me in the wrong place and i’ll crack in your hands.

keep my broken pieces. fill your empty parts with them if you wish. but don’t be too greedy. i can only bare so much.

the light is on. should i come in? or did someone get through the back door. are you waiting for me. or are you just waiting for someone?