Friday, March 12, 2010


The view from your bed
was not quite as peaceful as had seemed, in my reveries.
The leafless trees, dead.
The air, dry.
Your grasp feeling different.
Home is not in your arms

The answer to my question

I'm slipping away from you.
That old familiar feeling of my heart detaching,
unwinding itself from your grasp,
and smelling freedom.
I've learned how to live without you. It hardly leaves a sting now.
It used to be a slice.
Cold, and deep, splitting.
It's liberating to find answers now,
the discovery of mixed-up questioning, festering beneath.
I know now.
My heart, my personality does not belong under your control
or in a foreign land.
I'm going home now.