You can always come back home, she said, grabbing my hand and holding it tight. A show of affection I had prayed for for so many nights.
You can always come back home, these words played over and over around in my head. Come back to your house, ha, id rather be dead.
You can always come back home, this house was not a home. There was only a house with a room where day after day I cried alone.
There was only a house where my nightmares happened during the day, not as I slept but while I was wide awake.
You can always come back home, those words meant nothing to me.
A home is a place where you feel loved and safe, this house was a cold hateful and torturous place.
Come back home, this house was never happy, I never played and played. This house had a room where I was kept for hours of a day, a room where I stayed and prayed and prayed.
I stayed and prayed to God above that someway one day my mother would show me love.
Come back home, damn those words she said that burned my ears and made tears run down my face, I let go of her hand vowing never to return to this place.
Come back home, there are no happy memories to come back to, so why? No HAPPY BIRTHDAY to you cake , no THANKSGIVING PIE.
No hugs no kiss it saddens me to say there is nothing there for me to miss.
Many years have passed and the nightmares are less, the scars are still there and my mental a mess, so when I heard the news I couldn't have cared less. Yes I did , I yelled I, cried. I did care only God knows why.
I went there today to say one last goodbye and I didn't want her to be alone. So I numbed up with meds to return to that house that was never a home.
That house is gone now nothing but earth where my misery once laid, nothing at all to see. As I stood there confused I remember someone once said home is where the heart is and now I see,
MY HOME IS ME.