Growing Up

When I was young,

I used to dream of having a big house.

My hope was to finally have my own room,

To be able to decorate the walls with splashes of pink and blue.

To have my own wall for my posters and pictures.

I imagined all my family members living on their own,

No longer having to fight over whose turn it was to clean,

Or complaining about the tight space all 4 of us had to share.

Living in over 15 houses changed that for me.

As I grew,

All I wanted was to find a place where I could breathe,

Without feeling like my breath would knock the walls down.

I wanted to find a place where I could rest,

Without worrying about what tomorrow would bring.

I’ve slept in construction zones, hotels, and cars.

I’ve slept around a burn barrel in the dead of winter,

through 100-degree nights in the peak of summer.

Every day I walked home from school,

I was always afraid to see what had changed

Or whether we were being evicted.

Because of this,

home means something different to me now.

Home has become my mother’s hugs,

My siblings’ kisses,

A warm meal.

It’s the feeling of being loved,

The feeling of a warm cup of cocoa in the cold,

Or the soft feeling of fresh snow.

Until I can buy a home,

I will find comfort in these little things,

For home is where I choose to be,

Who I choose to be,

And what I choose it to be.