I went back to my childhood home.
Lying in the same bed
I learned the word
“insomnia”.
Reunited with childhood memories.
Childhood scars.
Childhood fears.
Life outside of this house is scary,
but homelessness was better
than being here.
Why do the things that hurt us
have such a strong grip?
Gravity pulls me back into
the red brick,
corner of the cul-de-sac,
dysfunctional household.
The doors are locked from the inside,
so why can’t I let myself out?