escapril day 8: hometown
Here, will always be my growing place.
The house with the white picket fence,
and the room with mauve-painted walls
(they used to be pink but then I ‘grew up’).
But prickling skin and one dry tongue later,
I’m not sure how much more I can grow.
These walls are feeling a lot more like walls as
I tangle like roots in a too-small flower pot.
Cramped and contorted, there’s a giant in my chest,
crouched and clawing at my insides, rattling
my rib cage like the bones are a cell, tortured
from hearing the same song so many times.
One day I will grow into someplace (where I can
take up more space) that will fit the giant in my chest.
But right now her skull might crack the ceiling
If she stood up too tall, so I can’t let her out (sorry).
My feet don’t touch the ground here anymore.
Gravity’s grip isn’t strong enough to hold me
as I drift, I drift… adrift I exist inconsequentially –
I’m not making footprints here anymore.
My heart is still here, at home, settled and
comfortable and warm, awoken each morning
by a soft knock at my door. But in dreams I reach
for bigger hands, to pull me into something more.
There is a place for me – a new growing place,
where I will start on a windowsill so I get enough sun.
I have dreams waiting outside the turn of a doorknob,
I just have to find the key. I know there is a place for me –
Not just somewhere I live, but somewhere that’s mine.