last night i realised that the place i grew up in is no longer my home, that those windows and walls strip back to the bone. and even if i look out to the same trees that were there before i’m never gonna feel the same things down to my core. i remember when we first built the place and it was nothin but timber scaffold and god i was so small that the ceilings looked like they went on forever but these days i have to hunch my shoulders to fit through the door and i swear it seems smaller than it ever was before. and there’s a whirring outside that i never quite picked up on and the walls seem to slant to one side and it’s so dark in those winter skies. my room is empty now because all my things are at my place the only thing left are dead plants and books i don’t want to read don’t know why i keep them they just sit and gather dust but i guess that’s all this place has become. relics of an old me left to linger and rot. like some sort of fucked up forget-me-not. reminders of a self that i was never quite true to, of nights with old friends whose numbers i’ve deleted from my phone and the most god awful nights where i’ve never felt more alone. funny how i feel less lonely in a room for one than in a mansion that never rests guess it’s cause i was always on edge. always having to put up a front because it was never just me and it didn’t like what was behind the mask that much. looked in that fucking mirror too much because i thought one day i’d finally recognise whoever was staring back but she just got older and older until she left and never came back. don’t think i’ll ever see her again how fucked up is that. how fucked up is it that i slept in that bed not even knowing it was gonna be the last time it was gonna be my home. went to pick up the key and slept on the mattress with no sheets. it was chinese new year and i was 19 and superstitious and i never went back home. sure i went back to that place but it was with a different face. i feel like gatsby a lot because he only really appreciated things once they were gone and everything’s so much more romantic in retrospect. lookin back at suicidal nights with rose tinted glasses and the times you got so anxious you had to skip your classes. sat under a tree across from the school cause your friends didn’t know who you were and neither did you. day in day out day in day out fade in fade out but these things never really go away no it never really leaves nothin ever really leaves (except your friends who couldn’t stick around til the fucking end but it’s okay i don’t blame them cause i wouldn’t either). though i guess i’m not really rememberin how things really were but how i think they happened and that’s dangerous because i’m biased as hell and got an ego to match. playing chess with a mirror take a swig light the match. light angles reflecting off a trifecta of foreign angels you think you found the answer in the blinding light and i’ll laugh but deep down think you might be right. always start my poems of with the words ‘not sure’ and im not sure why. always been indecisive at the end of the night. always doubting what i truly want asking other people what’s best for me and then i get mad when they give the wrong answer but it’s not their fault it’s the romancer’s. that’s me unless u were wondering that baby blue flickerin clueless loser with the off beat prose and the dead rose her best friend gave her three valentines ago. got shelves full of things i’ll never need and an ego that’ll do fuckin anything to please. don’t put me up on that stage because i’ll turn into someone i’m not or maybe someone i am don’t know the difference these days. this was supposed to be about home but ended up about me. if that’s not some cliche fuckin foreshadowing poetry..