3:45 | Monday 13, May
They say that home is not where you are born; home is where all your attempts to escape cease. But in my case, escaping seems to persist even though I am embraced in the arms of my home.
I observed many of my college friends and acquaintances talk about going to their homes with a sparkle in their eyes and colors in their voices, as if comfort is all they feel as they set their foot in the floor of their homes and feel the warm four corners of love, memories and belongingness. They talk about it as if It was filled with reassurance and loud noises of harmonious joy.
Hearing all this got me questioning: Why don't I feel that? Why don't I hear colors in my voice as I speak of my home? Don't get me wrong, I love my family so dear and so thankful because they provide my needs and a roof above my head. But would I feel this way if trauma didn't joined the family picture? Or if painful tears and loud rage isn't my breakfast everyday growing up?
I used to lock myself in my room to find my peace and solace, but now as I lay here in the same bed, it doesn't feel the same anymore. I always whisper quiet sobs and painful cries on my pillow on the same room where the stars above watch and laugh at my downfall.
Where should I put myself now? Because even in the place I'm staying at the moment, it is starting to feel like my home.
YOU ARE READING
Unspoken Whispers Beneath Every Sighs
Poetry"𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑" Every written pieces in this book conveys all the whispers in my head that seems to linger in me and wanted to be free. Writing gives myself a comfort it seeks to feel, that's why I always put my...
