Your household is my only way
Of ever feeling free
At dinner there’s an empty chair
The spot is saved for me
And through the cracks of your bathroom
I have waltzed my way inside
To feed beside you like a cockroach
On your mother’s homemade pie
My greed grows on the treehouse
that was built in your backyard
It festers like the mushrooms
of the leafy shaded ground
On your sink, I am a sponge
soaking up all of your warmth
Because I know that it’ll disappear
Without myself to mourn
I am simply just a dishcloth
On the handle of your stove
That your mother and you use to wipe
Your wet hands cleaned with soap
And through your opened bedroom door
I’ve crawled myself into your bed
To lay beside you like a spider
Stretching all eight of my legs
I see why you’re the way you are
By entering your home
By hearing how your mother speaks
The way she loves you so
Her reassurance prickles me
The tough part of my skin
It’s dried out like the mangos
In your small blue compost bin
Every flaw is hidden in the walls
Of my chipping childhood
And every inch of me in your home
wishes to be understood
Because your household is my only way
Of ever feeling free
And I am never fully dried of it
This throbbing
Burning
Author’s Note:
Growing up, my childhood was unconventional. Compared to my best friend, whose family I had become incredibly close to, I realized how differently she was raised just by being in her home. This piece was inspired by my best friend since kindergarten, and her loving home I always wanted to belong in.
Isabella Villar | 15 | Washington, USA | @mystalsyvz5 on TikTok & @elipsisabella on Instagram
