I’m curious to know
What makes a home, a home of hearts
And so I’ll start building mine
By pulling out those weeds rooted in insecurity
Growing in abundance in my backyard
And rake my little piece of land,
I’ll will those dried leaves
Whispering of lonely hearts to run
Far, far away
With sprightly winds,
And seal the cracks in my foundation
With the solid warmth of mountaintops,
Cradling my home in their sturdy arms.
The gabled tiles I’ll fill in with mosaiced emotion,
And the roof I’ll weave of ocean waves
Strong and reassuring,
They’ll coalesce into a cloak
Around me as I sit amidst worry.
Like the oceans, my roof will allow light
To penetrate to the rooms underneath,
I’ll return downstairs with only calm.
My walls, I will splash in color and compassion
And on my coatrack,
My wearied travelers will hang their exhaustion
Only to find feathers threaded through its buttons
When they return.
I’ll be brave and grow a garden too
Plant carnations and rosebushes that
Scent the air with fragrant, inviting warmth.
I’ll embed sorrows in the soil
That peek above the ground
As flowers of the wild.
Stringed paper lanterns on the path
Leading home—
Mine, yours,
of us all
A reminder that light sways gently
In the most impenetrable darkness too.
My doorbell will ring with laughter
Carried away on night’s shoulders,
Chiming across seas
And dreamcatchers will hang along the porch
Stitching together broken dreams.
My home will demand that I plaster its every surface
With art
And words
And memories
On whose floors I’ll create without hesitation,
And perfectionism will be out of breath before
It can climb my walls
And I, a romantic
Will dance within,
Still building a home
That brings people to my hearth
And embraces them as
Its own.
A home that holds pain close to its chest
And grieves with it,
A home crafted of wit and wisdom,
A home that sings of me.
I dream that it will be a place
Where I find the keys to all the shackles
That bind my limbs—
In pockets weighed down by lost love and secrets,
Hidden in journals where I quote
Freedom and courage,
Atop dusty mirrors that call upon forgotten memories,
Amongst books that
Remind me of me.
A home through whose windows
I see storms but feel
Only safety,
Where tears feel comfortable
And being different,
Is being yourself.
I’m beginning to put together brick by brick
From thought’s vast expanse of sea,
My dwelling of dreams dreamt over a million lifetimes,
A home that inspires me
To be free. |
