I am from many places, none of them quite home

 

I am from a red house atop a steep hill, back inside the woods

I am from climbing trees and bruised knees,

spending my days in a dreamy haze filled with warm summer rays

I am from Grandma coming to stay while Mom goes away,

because the empty bottles just keep piling up every day

 

I am from a yellow house, the same color as the lemonade

we make and sell in the front yard

I am from my mother calling us inside with tears she cannot hide

she tells us about the divorce

my stomach hurts at first, hit by an unseen force

I am from staring at a wall and ignoring it all,

because she has already cried three times today

 

I am from a tiny apartment where I last saw my mother,

packed up my things to go live with my father

still too young to understand, young enough to keep my head in the sand

I am from carefree youth, just losing my last baby tooth

I am from beginning to open my eyes to the truth

 

I am from a townhouse, just up the road

I am from growing up too soon, no longer a baby

I am from the sinking feeling that creeps up that, just maybe,

my mother doesn’t truly love me

I am no longer carefree

 

I am from a white house, where I don’t spend much time

I am from yet another broken home,

one where my stepmother cannot stand to stay,

because my father has carelessly thrown her love away

I am from broken homes filled with broken people

strange silence that fills the halls

cloaks the pictures on the walls

I am from wondering: when will I find home?