A confusion between Habit and Home defines me;
an illusion of routine and dream
I stride in-between,
a consolidation of comfort and the future, seen
through the kaleidoscope of my past familiarities.

I’m pretty sure they call these memories; Pandora's box.

Innocence rolled on the grass with me-
We played in the mud and learnt
how to draw what words meant,
and what shadows smelt
like under the old pine tree.
What the shape of a white puffed cloud
whispered to the wind as it moved to meet
another under the melting sun.

I travelled too to meet you,
I suffered too to greet you,

I bled too as a girl and blamed you,
I shed tears and fled you,

Failure scared you,
so fear paired you
to loneliness.

But I cared for you,
I cared for you,

Now guide me,
now trial me,
stand beside me.
Now fire at me.

I am a woman.

And where you live I have to go, Heart,
though you fleet from one state to another
though you caress one cheek then another.

When will you guide the unfaithful
to purpose?
When will you teach the ungrateful
how to pray?

I remain unlawful
and for you I stay
outside the boundaries of comfort.

I remain powerless
towards your beauty;
like a rose you blossom
and like Hope you wither.

I am a slave to your silence,
like Atlas indebted to my punishment
I shoulder Hope.

I am a soldier to your poetry,
like Ulysses, sea-wrecked by my heart’s nostos,
I travel Home.



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