Home Has Changed
Not every house is a home. And sometimes, the places we run to for peace end up being the ones that break us the most.
At first,
when I walked through the corridor of your heart,
I felt warm –
Wanted
Welcome.
It smelled like roses,
Sweet and soft
with a trace of morning dew.
The floor was steady —
it carried me
to places that filled my heart.
With light and hope
I lay on a bed —
sweetness,
dusted with what felt like love.
And I thought,
“This… this is where I’ll stay.”
To focus.
To heal.
To enjoy the serenity
of new-found purpose,
while I basked in your scent.
Because it felt like home.
Not just any home —
my home.
Wait —-
Something feels… off.
Now,
as I walk through that same corridor
that once led me to peace.
I feel heat —
sharp, unfamiliar —
Like it was warning me of something dangerous
It smells of dust now,
and rotten tomatoes.
The floor is slippery.
I try not to fall —
try to stay steady
on one end.
On one breath
But I stumble.
I sink.
I try to sleep,
but the bed is full of thorns —
thorns of your doing,
betrayal wrapped in cold silence.
What’s changed?
Why does it feel like prison —
like I’m being ushered into darkness?
Why does home….. Feels like prison
I guess home…
has changed.