A Sad Poem For People Who Have Moved Too Many Times

i.

Is home still your parents’ house after you leave it for the very last time?

Is home the skyline of the city where you were born,

Or the car you’re driving away from it in?

Thinking about home is poking a wound --

You like thinking about home because you like aching.

ii.

Is home the place where you pay rent?

A lot of places used to be your home, but

You carved yourself out of them

Like taking an ice cream scoop to your chest,

And carving home out of there too.

iii.

Is home a place where you feel safe?

Your doctor once asked you:

“Are you safe? Are you happy? Are you loved?”

And you sobbed on his examining table.

Where is your home if you’ve never felt safe? happy? loved?

iv.

Does home need a feeling of familiarity?

To you nothing feels more familiar (more like home)

Than the feeling of running away.

v.

You ignore the mess of viscera

Still spilling from the open wound in your chest,

And you leave home again.