I evacuated my quaint little town of Felton.
I live in the grimy city of Santa Cruz.
I know I'm lucky,
Living in a shop where I can build,
Create,
Print,
Sell.
But all I see are the boxes.
The boxes of all my photos throughout my life.
The boxes full of clothes, from costume to normal.
The boxes of art supplies, only the few things I could grab.
I wasn't allowed to bring my books.
I think that hit the most that this was a serious time.
I feel numb.
If my house is gone, my parents said they'd rebuild.
It doesn't matter.
It won't have my old room where all my friends put weird drawings and signatures.
It won't have my rollerskates, shiny and new, I hadn't used them yet.
It won't have my wall of fake flowers where I could make flower crowns.
It won't have my pride flag or my Panic! At the Disco flag.
It won't be painted sloppily by me and my friends, because they are no longer my friends.
It won't be home, and that's where I need to be.
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Poems That I Form
कविताI ask for no comments, votes, or anything. This is a place I can rant quietly without anyone needing to be a mandated reporter.
