Photo by Annetta Jackson, Intersect Antigua-Barbuda.
This house is not a home.
It’s given me more dark days than light ones,
More punishments than rewards,
More anxiety than happiness.
This house is not a home.
It's a void, filled with fancy, expensive things
A yawning, groping, empty, bellied space,
Churning me along its inside.
This house has taken more peace,
Taken more sleep from me,
Than all my bad decisions combined.
This house is not a home.
On some days, loud, on others, loud silence, feels haunted, this house has seen too much.
This house has memoirs of all my lesser moments, this house has a new paint job, but the same old atmosphere.
This house is not a home
It is stained with my tears
Keeper of my shortcomings
This house is not a home
This house is not a home
It tears us down, the more we try to build it up
Makes you less masculine
Me less feminine
Stripping everything
Contributing only to basic needs
This house shelters our heads but does nothing for our fears
This house, is not a home.