I swear, being a writer should come with hazard pay. Every time I dig up an old piece to reshare, it feels like it somehow knows exactly where I’m at in life right now! Emotionally wrecked and deeply reflective!! It’s wild, unsettling, and honestly a little eerie. This one? Couldn’t be closer to the truth! It’s about home. And let me tell you—saying goodbye to a real, soul-settling home feels like mourning a death.
There’s this idea that home should feel exciting, like a new chapter. But right now, it feels forced. I keep thinking, Am I just a kid pretending to be an adult in a world where I’m supposed to sign legal documents, pack up a life, and trust total strangers with everything I love? Because that’s what it feels like. Heavy, strange, and overwhelming.
The truth is, having a home—the kind that wraps around you like a hug and smells like coffee and comfort—isn’t a given. It’s not a right. Feeling safe might be, but having a home like that? You work for it. You pour into it daily. You protect it, nurture it, and pray over it. And when you leave it? It leaves a void. That familiar scent, the warmth, the laughter—it all disappears, and what’s left is just… space. Echoes. The memory of what was.
This poem, written back in October 2024, is about that sacred space. Home. The kind you create with intention, love, and sometimes through tears. Right now, I’m somewhere between goodbye and not-there-yet. In limbo. But God’s walking me through it—even if I’m kicking and crying the whole way.
Skelly-🏠
Where Home Used to Be
That place, I know. No other compares,
where scents drift softly through fragrant airs.
Where silence hums and whispers play
a hidden comfort on display.
In love’s deep safety, fears unbound,
where rest is pure, no shadows found.
The rest is guiltless, no shadows drawn,
pain released, and the past is gone.
A candle flickers, firelight glows,
and hazelnut’s sweet essence flows.
Softness, coolness, warmth in tune,
peaceful like a gentle swoon.
Fur at my feet, nestled tight,
a kiss on my brow, peace safe this night.
A blanket waits, close at hand,
all needs met, as life had planned.
This place appears, then slips away,
stolen by life, kept far away.
I try to hold it and keep it tight,
But it fades, leaving only an empty invite.
But when it comes, uncalled, unseen,
it holds me close—a lover’s dream.
SK-
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