[ emancipation of home]
sometimes, home refuses to become the love twisted into confetti of emptiness :
you can't reach the love promised under the moonlight
nor the love promised when you reached climax and nothing else mattered.
nor the love that watched you grow, learning your first steps
winning your first bruises, and losing your milk teeth.
home could be the vacant room in your heart
pulling you to leave everything and run like the wind
away from the warm itching embraces
and from the sweet cotton candy and fluffy pillow
and the loves that cuddled your cradle bed,
and everything that has owned your heart.