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A Poem For Places and People Like Home

The door of my house is open,

And I should wake up and go check,

If it really is?

Don't you see how consciously,

I'm still dreaming,

Of that place still?


And I hate myself now,

For always being the one,

Who doesn't leave,

But is left back with all the memories around.


And it aches me to say,

That I still think of you,

Even if you are not,

Ever thinking of me.


For houses and people left behind. For hearts and heartaches that still follow. For love and belonging of people who'll never accept.

image from pinterest // feels




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