apartment / healing / hope / mental health / Prozac and Faith / trauma / words

Maybe home is more than just a place

Six months ago, I never thought I’d find myself here–in a room with white colored walls and a stippled ceiling, a place to call my own.

“There’s no place like home.”

Dorothy once said, as she tapped her ruby slippers

Together one by one.

“Home is where the heart is,”

They all say as if a heart can fill a place, take up

Residence in a building full of feelings.

Maybe home is more than just a place,

I say, as I lie in bed at night wondering

How the hell did I make it this far?

With my dog lying next to me–

Her breathing regulating mine.




Home is where the heart is,

But sometimes the heart is left in memories scattered on the ground.

15 minutes on the floor in the bathroom,

Leave your heart on the ground,

Not asking for a room, just moving right in:

Baggage and all.

There are boxes to unpack.

Boxes contain more than things, memories,

Hearts and homes.

Is this a crisis moment, or just my brain not wanting to be alone?

Home is full of memories and life and laughter and tears

Home is his office, asking ‘are you ok?’

Home is the place where you first kissed the boy you’ve been longing for for years

Home is the memories you pick up along the way.


The dog snoring next to you, periodically

Getting up to lick your face, her anxiety wondering if you’re still alive.

Am I still alive?

My heart is beating.

My lungs are breathing. Is this what ‘Alive’ feels like?

Sometimes I forget how much my lungs like the taste of air,

Need air like I need water

Not to quench the fire in my soul–

The fire I need to survive.

Does this make sense to any of you?

Home. Home doesn’t make sense.

Home is messy and dirty and sometimes mean.

Home is blue and pink and sometimes clean.

But home. Home is maybe more than just a place.



Home is the place where I can close my eyes and just breathe.



You’ll be ok.

There’s an electric hum coming from the kitchen light

Echoing its way into my ears.

Nostalgia is the echoes of the past

Trying to remind you when things were better than they are now.

But nothing’s better than now. Because

I am here.

I am now.

And life,

Life goes on.


I'm a music lover, reader, writer, lover of words, and hopeless romantic.I believe in magic.I wish my life were a Jane Austen novel.

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