Perhaps it is the sound of my mother's laughter at late night talk shows after I've gone to bed,
or memories of whimsical ponytails and naps in oversized beanbags,
late night jam sessions, Top Ramen, Oreos, and Def Jam Poetry marathons,
but I miss whatever the feeling of 'being at home' was before
I began to wander emptily and aimlessly around hoping
that I could grasp onto something or someone for long enough
to bring back the warmth that accompanies feeling safe,
but instead I've landed in a place I've never been before
surrounded by my own cynicism and self-doubt,
And as I lay here during nights of insomnia,
feeling as though each of life's mishaps are both miracles and tragedies,
that propel me to work harder but ground me so firmly in reality
that I've forgotten what it feels like to dream.
I hope that my internal battles and my indecisiveness
will rock me to sleep each night until memories of
home become present feelings, and I can truly acknowledge
that my brain is a home to my thoughts,
my life is a home for my potential,
and home is not nearly as far away as it seems.
