anthology

there are so, so many places i want to go, thank you so much for giving me a home.

there are so, so many places i want to go, thank you so much for giving me a home.

I.

the hand that pulls you up, 
the one that peels back the blinds. 
you have never seen so much, 
the sun is nothing but bright. 
wiping away tears with their touch, 
fingers running through hair. 
you feel as if you’ve finally hit luck,
perhaps that’s only fair. 
nineteen rusted flames of stone, 
you can’t choose, you can’t pick, 
maybe there is one that isn’t so known.
the veins running down their wrist, 
so faint you could miss. 
they pull you close, keep you safe, 
until the lock in the door clicks, 
and the sun shows its face. 

can’t you tell, don’t you care?
that hand was never there, 
and this world is nothing if not unfair. 
everyone whispered come here,
but they never cared, 
they never did, 
now they look at me, 
like a candle that was never lit.

II.

the winds are so strong, 
i can’t keep my eyes open. 
the more awake i am, the more the pain prolongs,
i have no dream, i have no plan. 
i merely walk with my back
against the sand.
with my eyes squeezed shut,
and my fingers clenched, 
i bite my tongue, 
and forget what it feels like to stand. 
it’s too hard, it’s too long, 
i can’t take it, and so i shrink back, 
into my mind, 
where the winds are weak and there is a little less sand. 

and then i lift my head, 
where is it i have gone?
what is this land?

III.

faded wooden floors, 
that creak a little too much, 
painted white doors, 
covered in stickers and dust.
the dead spider on the window
that makes me grimace, 
the warm cozy kitchen, 
that seems to lack limits. 
the mismatched little pots, 
and bowls that don’t stack, 
different colored socks, 
and the painting that makes me want to laugh.

there are so, so many places i want to go, 
thank you so much
for giving me a home.