a common theme in my poetry

As you have probably noticed, I write a lot about the concept of home in my poetry.

I don’t think that I have an exact explanation for as to why this is such a common theme in my poetry. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I have very rarely felt at home, because of how often we moved when I was younger or because of the tumultuous environment I have always lived in.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that I have finally started to feel at home, in my body and in my life. Yes, I am still working everyday to get where I want to be but things certainly feel like they are on the right track.

For me, poetry is a catharsis. It is a way to talk about the things that have followed me through the years; that have shaped me into the person that I am today. It helps me to say what I have always wanted to but have kept to myself for whatever reason I may have. And this journey has helped me reach home.

home
/hōm/
(noun)

1. not a place but a feeling. a feeling pitted in your chest of belonging and comfort and love. a feeling overwhelming your body from head to toe.

2. more than an arrangement of brick and mortar. it is bare skin on clean sheets and candles burning, warm dinner on the stove, your paintings hanging on the wall, dirty clothes piled up by the door, muddy paw prints on the floor.

3. something that can not be built in a handful of minutes, a matter of days. something that takes work; all of your time and energy and all of your love.

poem: “i am afraid to talk about my father”

I am afraid to talk about my father

I do not want to be told that what I remember is not right
but my head is full of things about him
that I wish I could forget

like the sour scent of alcohol
the sound of raised voices
a clenched fist
my heart pounding in fear
sleepless nights
rinse and repeat

like ring back tones and answering machines
the question who is this?
because two years is apparently long enough
to forget what your child’s voice sounds like

why would I want to make myself believe
that I was not important
to one of the two people
who brought me into this world?

I am afraid to talk about my father

because I cannot stand the anger
that floods my body at the mention of his name
the emptiness I feel when I think about him

anger and loneliness are the only things
that he ever gave to me

(and I do not want them)