I walk with my friends,
we talk and our tiny group shuffles in tow.
Footsteps after footsteps.
And suddenly we all, say "I don't want go home."
I think home is a funny word.
A home is a safe happy place, or it should be.
I like my home, it's great, despite it's bad qualities.
But when I look at my friends, I know they have real reasons for not wanting to go home,
I can see it in the fear that tints their eyes. In the way they hope their parent won't drive by, in the way the other walks everyone else to their houses before departing slowly themselves.
I can see it when they ask, "Do you want to go for a walk today?"
Or the way they say
"Let's just stay a little longer"
And when someone doesn't want to go home,
for a reason that retains to fear,
I don't think that it's really home to them.
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Was Meant to See
Poetry[Trigger Warning, please be safe when reading] They aren't supposed to know. They aren't meant to read these poems that I'm writing. I've concealed them for a reason. -Shitty poems about how I feel-
