Home?

I feel trapped inside this stupid little room in this stupid little house that isn't mine.  I'm stuck inside this bright blue aqua room that could never be mine.  I'm trapped waiting to go back home, realizing that I'm never going back home.  I know they say that home is where the heart is and home is where your family is but right now I don't feel like my family gets me. This new house isn't home...

This is my home:

A once warm, delicious smelling kitchen
slumps silently into a still hibernation.
It's coordinator no longer capable of managing its tasks.

A once joyful room of feasting lets out a
melancholy sigh, and with it all the past
memories, tastes, and laughs that it imbibed
through the years. It's vital organs being
transplanted elsewhere.

A once inviting snuggle lair stretches its
cushioned arms out for one last hug...
but the faces turn away.

A once industrial washroom let's out its
first sign of emotion: a cry to be needed, but
the mountains of fabric will never reach its mouth
again.

A once cramped, but buzzing, station of toiletry
and cosmetics brushes off its layer of
makeup to reveal the concealed memories of pre-event
excitement, in hopes to convince its masters to stay a
while longer.

A once climbing staircase rounds its edges as it
has no need to keep its structure, now that its
ascendants have ascended another just like it.

A once personally, perfect dream cube oozes the
last of its yellow sunshine out of her
pores, reminding her sleeper of the tears, joys, and
poems written within her perimeter...but little
miss sunshine bids her adieu and her
paint melts away, staining the floorboards forever.

A once soapy, steamy rain forest sends all the
birds of its boughs to sing a melody that
is irresistible, yet the bathers resist without
a choice.

A once studious classroom flips through the
pages of her many books, desperate to make
a good, convincing argument, but she comes up
hopeless and succumbs by handing over every
leaf of paper she is made of, surrendering to
the truth of the matter.

A once smelly, odd, "vroom" emitting room
makes a deal with his playmate of
12 years, " I promise I'll clean myself up...
just don't leave", but the boy salutes and
turns away.

A once cozy, safe-haven room watched silently
as her offspring say goodbye to their respective
owners and a tear trickles from her left eave.
She doesn't try to stop them though, she is wiser
than the rest, and knows they will be able to
hold new owners soon enough... just not as
well.

And even the dank cricket crypt moans.
As each piece of furniture is removed, another
ton of memories is piled onto its cement walls.
It has held up the past 15 years worth of life and now,
in the blink of an eye, it has nothing to hold.

And that is the heaviest weight of all.




I wrote that right before we moved ... and it still hits home every time I read it.