Heart and Home

Heart and Home are things once known to me as joy
naiveté and hope in humanity
Until my own home turned castle into Little Glass
and I felt my soul hit my knees in protest of the way it was
The way I was told it had always been

have not always been.
My existence is new and I am a new light shining a new and brilliant truth on yesterday

So heart and home are known again and they speak differently now
They are quiet, oppressed, and emotionally void
They are dangerously raw and fragile and alone
Alone in a world that happiness rejects
and expects
and pushes and sings only its own song of heart
and home

The way it used to be, the way it is supposed
to be
The way two people take each other’s hands and beat hearts together
pounding compassion out of pain
and love out of the thinnest of air

Love only crawls in my heart and home on days my head is full of
all that optimism
that is lost on me

And my home and my heart are screaming for some sincerity,
some sanctity
Some Class.

A little 101 on tomorrow’s here and now,
Our hearts don’t beat forever.
And our homes

Our homes are unsteady and nomadic
and anxiously comfortable
My heart is no home for all this doubt and mediocrity

I am my home and that home is warm and strong
and today.
And stands high in cries for compassion
for compensation
for competence

begging you
for confidence.
My heart is reaching for a bridge to a home
I have never known.


About Ellie

Everybody needs his memories. They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door. ~Saul Bellow To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward. ~Margaret Fairless Barber, The Roadmender View all posts by Ellie

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