i try to breath
only to be shoved under
the waves of love
in an endless sea
of entitlement.

i try to love
only to be smothered
by the hands of
familiar people.

i try to live
but find only broken toys
of playtimes past.

i try to exist
but i cannot

if you’re around.

a question

what’s in a home?

is it the four walls that keep us safe?
the roof that protects us?
the food in our fridge?

or is it the memories of bygones past?
the feeling of leaves crunching beneath feet?
the nip of winter as holiday lights twinkle across the neighbourhood?
the humid july air, thick with excitement and fireworks?
the dancing of fireflies at night?
the cool pine breeze?
love long lost?

maybe a home is figurative
memories and sadness and happiness and belonging
maybe it is constantly evolving and devolving and existing
maybe home is