Being back in my childhood home is supposed to fill me with warmth, right?
Then why do I not feel that way?
Why do I keep getting flashbacks to all the worst memories?
This is supposed to be the home I was raised in
The home where I took my first step in
The home where I shared laughter and joyous moments
But all I seem to feel being back here is resentment and sadness
This place doesn't feel like home
It feels empty and cold
Something from an awful distant memory
All I can remember are the core traumatic memories
They keep rising from the subconscious mind
Memories I have buried deep inside since childhood
No matter how much I keep pushing against that little door in my brain
The memories kept flooding out
I have longed for this place to feel like home since the age of 6
But all I can remember is the dread I felt every time I was forced to come back "home"
No matter how hard I tried, this place never felt like home
So how can I expect for the feelings of warmth to wrap around me once I stepped back in through the doors?
YOU ARE READING
What Goes Unheard
PoetryThis is a collection of poems that I write along the way. It includes moments where I struggled a lot with certain things that others may find triggering or comforting since they would now know that they are no longer alone. A lot of the poems inclu...
