Home isn't something grand,
Home is where my ribcage expands.
The town I once grew up in,
Grew to be bland.
And so I returned once there,
With nothing than a suitcase, skin bare.
It had my memories, they begged for closure,
I stepped in, and dusty wind blew my hair.
The scent of nostalgia, I knew too well,
The sounds of bike whistles and churning chapel bells.
I was the one to leave, yet somehow I missed it,
Even after all the years I spent in its hell.
I crossed by miss Eden's candy shop,
Sat to think on the bench of my old bus stop.
Saw all the things I once forgot,
And visited my old house at the hill tops.
I walked around and round till night grew closer,
The suitcase only crying louder and louder.
The memories were impatient and so was I,
So I thought it was finally time for that closure.
I walked straight there, and stopped to look,
At the river below me, as with every step I took,
The bridge as well the suitcase shook and shook.
Forget turning the page, I was ready to throw the whole book.
The weight of the suitcase grew the more I thought about the past,
It was time for us to leave, at last.
I've never seen anything so eager to drown,
And so it was time,
goodbye,
Hometown.
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A/N:
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✨Escapril ✨ § poems and shorts §
Poetry🔅The smell of rotten apples filled the house, as Toga lay dead. 🔅 Hey guys! This is a collection of poetry and short stories for the escapril challenge (prompts from @letsescapril on Instagram) so I will be posting a chapter for every day or so of...
