This is Home.

I slid to the floor of this solitary place, surrounded

by hastily scribbled memos

on monochrome sheets of paper.

and cannot find a singular one addressed to my former self;

they are tucked away in a box at the bottom of my heart

and, I no longer know this method

of hurting

of healing.


Today, we dismantle

this plexiglass palace; cutting

our fingertips on shards of jagged glass.

building something that feels like forever:

this is Home.

this is my Home.


and In This House,

we lay to rest our demons

of the wintry months; these icy beasts

are no longer our burdens to bear

so we let them melt

like snowflakes; we let them go.


In This House,

we promise this world

a window for her brightness

Every Day; throw open the curtains,

curl up in this stream of soft sunlight,

sleep with the lights on if we must.


In This House.

there is little room for the girl I once was, unless

she is dash marks on door frames;

measuring just how much we've grown.


Love, if we continue to leave

the left half of drawers empty

for ghosts of girls we no longer know,

there will be

no space

to store all of the Beautiful

you've spent your whole existence collecting.


This House is your permission to take up space:

Plant flowers of favorite memories,

The walls, painted any color that

reminds you of your best friend’s smile,

fill every corner with the warmth

you hope to never forget.


In This House

not of brick mortar, we have built

our first real Home.

entirely of laughter

and love

and all you will ever need.


Darling, make Home of your bones;

it is all you will ever need.


This poem is about: 



Hi reader and fellow poet :) I just wanted to share a little bit of background on this piece:

I was diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder and Major Depressive Disorder a few years ago. I went through a really dark period of self-harm and anorexia during my sophomore year. I was absolutely terrified because I could not find a single thing about myself that I liked and I just wanted to tear my entire being apart and start over. I—of course—could not. This is Home is a poem, a plea, and a prayer wrapped into a personal declaration that reminds/begs/calls me to love all of my brokenness and forgive myself for transgressions against my own body. I was so scared of what it would mean to actually begin the process of self-love and self-renewal, but even more afraid of what would happen if I didn't. I’m not sure if it’s the most important poem I will ever write, but I know that it means just as much to me today as it did two years ago. Maybe it will mean something to you, too.

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