HOME

It’s not always the sea trying to call me home.

Sometimes it’s the sky. Sometimes it’s your voice

in a dark room and my stumbling feet that can’t

seem to reach you in time. I ate strawberries for 

the first time in months and I swear they taste 

sweeter than you ever could have. So maybe this 

is forgiveness, or maybe it’s just acceptance. Either 

way it’s getting too heavy to lug around my heart 

and your guilt. So here's a shrine of daisies, here’s 

my hands wrapped in velvet. Here’s your final 

resting place. A graveside for the pulp of heartache 

you turned me into. Nothing is tugging me of my 

feet or stealing my air. I’m home, and it feels softer 

than you ever could have.