Then and Now

Feverdreams of childhood homes

Worst nightmares of EVERYTHING falling apart

And no one caring. 

Holes in the roof, no intent on patching

 and people sitting around a table 

happy to let the rain in. 

Mold taking root, insects chewing

Sun robbing of any youth in lumber, turning it all  to dust. 

Just before the rain comes back

And washes it all away

The driveway is always full of belongings. 

Things I’ll never see again but am always haunted by.

My childhood was in there. 

I think I had one. 

I remember so much good

But so much more 

isn’t there.

Thinking of that place more. 

Childhood home, something wants to be

Remembered,

Explanations not asked for

The universe is swinging around.

Fever dreams of childhood homes waking me up

To a realty where the roof is open

The rain is coming in

And no on seems to care. 

Panic

Hey, look, a new form of panic attack.

But the old ones were so enjoyable!?

What to expect when the world starts to offer you love?

That’s what it feels like. Like the world is prodding with a little kindness and you need to sneak off to a bathroom so as to not disturb your current life with

...being happy?

What do you do when you feel your feet slipping

Like you’re standing too close to the edge of a great cliff but

your legs are jello, and your brain is spinning as though you’re already falling.

Vertigo? Jimmy Stewart? Rear Window without Grace Kelly. 

Imposter syndrome, thanks Gaiman

thanks for bringing that ole’ chestnut back into view.

(I still love you) 

What do you do when half of you wants to thrive. To become who you want to be, but the other half. tells you to stay put and lean into the frustration  because that’s what you deserve... 

I’m writing again. Something about home. Something about starting to feel fresh again. 

But maybe that’s fresh like the cigarettes used to be. Exciting. Then smoked. Then crushed. 

Light Through Clouds. Home.

Home is ethereal
a place that doesn't seem right, even when you're supposedly there
but you're desperate to return to when you find yourself far away.
Sometimes it's a person,
a thing,
hell- sometimes it's a dog
or a type of food.

Is it supposed to remind you of childhood?
Friends... friendship?
Love? Family?

Are you supposed to wrap yourself up in the comfort of the blanket of 'home'?

Or jump through the closest window, hoping for a not-too wrenching fall
when you hit the ground
of a reality that leaves in an open desert of the wide world,
a naked figure in a monsoon storm.

The physical place, the house that I remember-


...what little I'm allowed to remember... 


that place doesn't remind me of anything I care to carry forward.

Or maybe the reality of the thing, home, is that it's never there, it's constantly re-imagined
a hallucination
a dream
something to strive for when you're low.

I'm home, for now... and I don't know how,
or why I was allowed back in
but it feels
warm? fresh? like I've been brought back in time but with the knowledge of my older self...
and I want to DO WORK

I want to tackle the world again.