Home

I, am not home.

Picture a dark room.

No windows or doors,

Just two bodies.

Shattered hearts,

Broken bones,

Plus this poem.

It’s strange.

How feelings can change

over time

Leaving nothing but vivid memories behind.

And I,

I remember the bad times the most.

So let’s toast,

To the loud screams and long nights

Where fists hit walls when we had fights,

But being right

didn’t mean a damn thing.

The bell would ring

And the arguing would stop

Just long enough for you to pop

a few more pills.

To have a few more thrills

With that adrenaline running through your veins,

But still I stayed.

I mean,

Have you ever tried to fix a broken person?

You glue their pieces back together,

Until you realize it has worsened.

It is certain

that this process is exponential,

So you lose yourself

in the dark hole of their potential.

Then, you blame yourself for being so damn optimistic.

Lies twisted

at the brim of their smile,

Pain seeping from their pores.

The score is not even

so please, do the math.

I took a leap this year,

365 days trapped in hell,

Plus one for good luck.

And well,

Subtract the ones where your knuckles struck

my skin and then

Divide by ten.

We’re looking at a slim

number of days that I had peace.

What is peace anymore?

I can’t sleep at night.

I tremble in fear

that you are there,

And all I hear

Are these demons in my ear.

These nightmares

That have become my reality.

And my anxiety?

Damn, my anxiety.

Sometimes, I cant breathe.

Sometimes, I can’t sleep.

Sometimes, I don’t want to be here.

Sometimes I don’t want to be alive.

So I ask God if today will be my time

to come home.

Because

I, am not home.

I was always told that men should never hit women,

But what happens when the tables have turned?

And she yearns

for that Face-to-Palm collision.

I wonder,

Is this even love?

When the only thing on the dinner table is a plate full of regret

As you check

for answers in places that no longer exist.

I am lost…

Somewhere between wanting love and needing my sanity.

Let’s be clear.

We did not age like fine wine,

Because we aged in dark times.

You can tell by the bruises on my skin

That I am hanging by a string.

And I, just want one thing.

To be whole again.

I mean, to feel at Home again.

 

By Tevin J. Reese

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