This is a personal documentation through poetry.
I am learning to look inward now, give myself love when I least want to. I do not live to love others, I live to love myself. I will find and create what is enough for me, and you will learn to let it...
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A guilty well opens up within me. It doesn't serve its purpose like it should, There isn't even water in this emptiness. It is just a cavity. A reminder. I did what I did. I lay in my bedroom, on my sunken bed, Trying to build a lid to slide over the well. And I end up staring at my ceiling for an hour. I end up thinking of how I left them there. How I left my mother. How when I visit, she looks worse than the last time, but will do anything to make sure I'm settling in comfortably. How I left my sister. How when I visit, she lets me sit on the same couch as her, and hug her, without complaint. How I left my brothers. How when I visit, they linger longer trying to find stories to catch me up on, and ask when they can visit. How I left my father. How when I visit, he greets me with a warm hand on my shoulder, offers to make me food, and asks me when I'm coming home.
So I lay in my bed. And I build my lid. Because the well gets deeper everyday. My family changes everyday. And it's not my fault—but it is. I want to go home, but it's not home. I am a burning forest, in me a well. Next time I visit, I'll have their hands Build this lid.
