These Hidden Words

Home

Home.

What is a home?

What makes a home?

Is it the warmth? The love? The comfort?

Or is it the hurt, the abuse, the bruises that you both see and don't?

Is it the venemous words spit across rooms, slapped in faces, scattered amongst the shattered pieces of broken plates?

Is a home made by the illusion of content?

The hidden dread of going home?

The tiredness you feel walking in the door?

We say these things that aren't a home, but this is what we teach kids to associate the word 'home' to

so that by the time people ask them what a home is,

This is the only thing they know.

They only know 'home' is synonymous to 'prison',

to dread,

to tears,

to fear,

to death.

Suicide starts at the root,

to where the soul spends the most time,

square one:

home. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Written in honor of the day my mother kicked me out at age 18, and every time before that.

— 𝐇𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧