original post from wordDrifter
someday. a real home. not a basement where the laundry machines sing their ending and puppy hound nails tap dance across the wooden floor to flop their fat bodies in and out the doggy door through the night. not a bed so soft i move positions in my sleep and hold my jaw shut tight and the cat comes in the morning to sit still atop my chest. not a crush of confidence when dad offers the car for my use and the ease of it kills me. hitch hike bus or borrow the car i gotta get out of this suburb and head home before i start crying in the bathtub. heading home. always heading home.
found home once and found it so hard i couldve left it all and been nothing but happy forever. i escaped that bliss but it was the leaving that cast the shackles. that weight drags on me. keeps me from floating away completely into the rainbow we chased that day, muddy from digging in the garden we ran, up hills through fences and we found the truth of the magic at the end–the cranes dance–they really dance–and mushrooms grow out of cow shit. but ivan was stern, we shouldnt have gone up that hill he said, neighbors and all that, and in a few days the mushrooms we hid away in glass jars evaporated in moldy mist.
a broken heart is nothing to a soul so wrapped up in a place you have to leave it behind to move your body. desert your soul and break your heart simultaneously with one train ticket, thats poetry. thats how strong life is.
lord heaven earth, just give me a fucking home. just let me have it all. these dreams haunt me. always trying to get there (get back). almost there. but something blocks the way. worse even are the dreams when im there already, and so is everybody i love and the sun is shining and theres a room for me and smiles and hugs and i run outside and distance in every direction, just distance and distance and i wake up panting for the freedom of being completely where i am, my body tingling so hard i feel it even inches above myself, only to realize with a sinking breath, the home i left is not mine and i am in a basement.
the home i left is not mine and yet there is no difference between it and me because my soul and that land are one. the tragedy is that it found me too early in life and i wasnt ready to give up the dreams i thought i needed (did need). and thank god i wasnt ready. because now i can feel the pain of the loss and through that pain i make my web, connecting all these places i live, each one becoming me somehow. and i can live two lives: waking, i live the one i chose and in my dreams i live the life i am. and i love them both.
and all of the people can say a permanent address must be your home, this is what they all need to say. they aren’t comfortable with the notion that an entire land can be home, all of it, i say, and they blink harder. the US is a big place. ya, i say, and its all mine. but where are you from they repeat unsatisfied until im in a cozy corner of labeled. i oblige and choose a state, a city, somewhere i’ve loved and lost and will return to and we move on.
but really, i have the biggest home in the world. and im going there every day.