My father told me,
When he had finally picked me up,
When I was finally released.
That home was not the same.
Everyone missed me he said.
It was like the house was in confusion.
They didn't know what to do,
And how to function.
We were mourning a death.
Not my own,
But my grandmothers.
Alerte.
It was in that moment somewhere,
In those hundred and sixty-eight hours,
That she had passed.
And I dealt with her death alone.
She had came to me,
In a dream that night.
After I was done crying.
Cried myself to sleep.
Alone without my family.
Mourning her death.
In sleep she came to me,
In a memory of my childhood past.
Of her,
And my siblings,
And family.
But I was older.
Like she knew I would get older.
And she looked at me,
And said,
"Wow you've grown."
And I woke up.
Somewhere in that hundred and sixty-eight hours I had finally woke up.
But I made it home.
Where previously I had felt so alone.
And felt whole.
And accepted as a holed being.
I felt loved.
And for once I didn't feel alone.
Surrounded by all the people that saved me.
Everyday and continuing.
I had finally felt like I could breathe.
YOU ARE READING
Her.
Poetry• 2017 Her feelings took Her to unfamiliar places. She would never forget. Her mind was racing. Her heart was telling Her no. But She had to escape. She had to end this. Or else there would be no one left to tell this story. So She did what She ha...
