It was—5am—in my head
and I was lost
of where I was;
nostalgia of a place that kept changing
until it went back to where I remember it all
Where are you from?
I’ve never had a home…
I’m from every place that I’ve stayed
and then moved on.
Red and green crocodiles waiting by the dirty pond
they don’t follow me back to the bathtub
they’ve already had their chance to spill my blood
and drag me down to their brackish waters
from where I can be reborn
This time I travelled by the trains and the buses and then the metal trunks,
stuck in the doorway—not inside, not outside; I’m nowhere but I’m stuck
where I am
This time it was death by the small–space phobia in a cardboard box
Puzzle pieces made of rock keys that never quite fit the lock
lead to this last prison, a cave with a light beam of hope
How fickle is glass when it’s dark
Showing you the world but showing you—you
showing the spirits ridden in chains
materialize at the end
of my bed every night
and so when it’s raining
I recite our favourite poems.
There is good imagery in this piece and I liked the line breaks
The rhythm and the imagery are both captivating… love the dynamic, experimental language
I enjoyed this poem. I don’t know what every part of it means, but I like the pattern, and the way it was written.
“I’ve never had a home… I’m from every place that I’ve stayed and then moved on.” SNAPPY!
“I’m nowhere but I’m stuck where I am.” WOW!
I think our readers will like this one, especially those facing or having faced similar identity crisises.