When I was small and scared,

I would crawl into the empty space

between my parents in their bed

And as the years went by, I noticed

that the space was getting bigger

while the amount of kisses they shared

was shrinking.

By the time I was sixteen,

it was easy for me to rest

in the empty spaces I found in peers,

but as years went by, I noticed

how those empty spaces would grow,

while other things would fade,

like the light behind their eyes

or the effort behind their laughs.

My father had always warned me

not to look for home in people,

but he was only speaking of the lovers

what about the others?

like the hollow-wombed mother

who holds her stomach when I'm gone,

the sagging skin in her palms

but I never ever call

because I'm too busy looking for home

in people who have no doors