I often find myself leaving this flesh and
these bones, that claim to be my home
I often find myself soul searching outside
of where I am supposed to belong
It’s not a choice. It just gets
difficult to breathe, the silence coiling
against my throat, the flesh with its scars, and
bruises that still hurt.
It's not a choice, but I am getting better
at staying outside most of the time
while visiting once in a while
to clean up the mess that the past left behind.
I am getting better -
at waiting to be back, until
I can once
a g a i n
Call this body, my home.