The escape to find “Home.”

Nine-year-old me, scouting the routes,

Tracing every corner to find the exit.

I cannot make sense of the house I live in,

Growing among beings who do not recognise me.

_____

I cannot find where I began—

Disconnected, cut off.

Every step I’ve taken complies,

Yet no trails remain on the floor.

______

The weight of escape presses heavy,

Erasing the past with every search.

Each look into the valleys—the highs, the lows—

Is a desperate reach to find my home.

_______

I make a mess of my journey,

But still, I find nothing.

I know nothing of the road ahead,

But God forbid I return to the roads I’ve crossed.

_______

I remember faintly the days before,

But one thing I am certain of:

Is that it damn well hurts.