Empty Shelves

I keep finding myself in the same places

more often than I want to be.

And for someone who’s never wanted routine,

I seem to be stuck in the same cycle between

ignoring responsibilities

and pretending there’s never any time for just me.

I thought I could find comfort in being alone

until everyone that I knew was suddenly gone.

And I always wanted a place that I could call my own,

but now that I have it it doesn’t feel like it’s home.

There’s nothing on the shelves reminiscent of me,

no dust bordered imprints from memories.

So many spaces with my marks unseen.

This has always been my reality

in all the temporary ”homes” in which I’ve been.

This is only space twenty-three.

It’s said that home is where the heart is.

If that’s the truth, then I’ve lost count of all the places I’ve lived.