is this my home?

Whenever my key doesn’t immediately open the door,

I fear I’m not at home,

That I’m breaking in,

Mistaking someone’s sanctuary for my own.

I see a girl walking to the door,

My same brown hair dyed blonde

And 5’4” height disguised by platforms.

The same thick glasses, a different fear.

I watch her approach and I run,

Down the stairs and up the block

Until I hit the ocean and beg the waves to swallow me,

To hide my body between the seaweed and the sand.

When the key finally turns,

My heartbeat settles and my breaths slow.

The girl becomes a ghost

And the nearest riptide is an hour away.

If I change my address,

Alter my body,

Restructure my mind,

Will I finally feel at home in the spaces I reside?

I select a flower from the kitchen counter vase

And pick the petals off one by one,

I’m home, I’m homesick, I’m home, I’m homesick,

I’m home.