what tomorrow brings.

vii. going home.

vii. GOING HOME.

i want to go home to a place
that isn't ruble. i want to walk
in the front door and watch my
mother cook on the stove she
worked so hard to own. make
my way past siblings who sit
and play with wooden blocks,
stacking until they tumble over.
skip steps to my room, where
memories are kept, where i had
made a safe haven. i want to go
home to a place that isn't ashes.
smoldering and Smokey. intoxicating
my lungs every time it rains. i want
to be home again. i want to feel
safe and comfort without the agony
of looking through where my living
room stood and hoping baby photos
made it through. i want to make it
past everyone telling me to just get
over it. get over the nightmares,
anxiety thrilling minds at midnight.
wake up and be home. be in my
room. walk downstairs and say
good morning to my mother.

i want to go home to a place
that isn't just ruble.