Coldness of Home

The blood is thick here

circling around cold hearts

constantly trying to take my hand,

but never to hold it.

All eyes on me, looking like home,

I stare into them, memorize them,

until I recognize the color

of a lie folded over, disguised

like a mask that looks familiar;

I have been here before.

I don’t want to be anymore.

I see my spine in your eyes

turned weak, I see my heart

in your mouth as you chew it up;

well spit it out… I want it back.

I’m not taking your hand

so you can pull me to the place

you think I should go.

I know where my dreams are,

I remember the way.

I have emptied your eyes,

taken back what’s mine.

Don’t follow me.

I will follow my heart

for the first time in so long.

You can taste your own words,

feel the sharp edges

of all you made me swallow,

and finally understand

the complicated sadness of me

came from your hands, dripping

with jokes I never laughed at

and hearts I stopped trying

to warm into a home.

-Stephanie Bennett-Henry

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