This poetry collection is inspired by homesickness and nostalgia. A little part of us always misses home, and I wanted to capture that feeling and express it through my writing. Themes of missing the potential and missing someone are manifested.
I. you don’t realize something’s wrong
you don't realize something's wrong
until you’re calling an old friend every day
just to talk about what’s been on your mind.
because everything is constantly on your mind and
it feels like if you don’t tell someone, you will explode.
or implode, whichever does the most damage
you don’t notice something’s off
until you’re crying and
calling your mom for the third time in two days
just to say you miss her. you miss home and
your old life and
everything you used to be.
you swallow your pride and the guilt of leaving home
to let her know just how hard it’s been.
just how much you’ve been struggling.
you don’t realize how long it’s been since you’ve truly been happy,
even just for a day.
how is it already november?
how is it only november?
you need to sleep for a thousand years and
maybe then you won’t feel so tired.
so you won’t feel this bone deep exhaustion that
never seems to go away.
everyone wants to grow up and move out but
no one wants to admit how much they miss it all.
no one wants to acknowledge the fact that it’s really not all that glorious.
you’re sick and tired of boston and the slow trains and the busy busy people.
and you just want to go home.
II. I missed my bus to Boston.
I missed my bus to Boston
and I’m stuck in New York.
I need to hear your voice and feel the softness of my bed.
wrap myself in my favorite blanket.
I don’t think I can make it to December.
I don’t think I can make it through this year.
can someone stop the world from spinning and
everyone from moving and
time from turning?
home has never felt so urgent.
I need a break and a vacation and an excuse to get away.
I can’t stay here anymore.
I’m so sorry for all the things I used to do and
all the things I used to say.
I was young and naive and I know that’s not an excuse but
I miss you.
I regret it all and I promise I’ll be better.
I know I can be better.
I just can’t take this anymore.
I’m craving a place and a certain feeling.
I don't want to be an intruder anymore.
I want to not feel exhausted just waking up every day,
dragging my feet through everything I do.
I want to feel at peace with the wooden floor beneath me.
I want to not feel rushed and silenced every time I speak.
I want a hug from you, and
I want to know that everything will be okay.
III. strawberry twizzlers
lately, I’ve been starting books I’ll never finish
I think I’ve read ten first chapters and
never felt the urge to go on
I love reading, I love living
I’m teetering on the edge
I feel so fragile, delicate, frantic
what ifs can topple me over
maybe it should
maybe I should fall
maybe in the midst of falling I’ll see my life
flash by before my eyes, and
I can finally grasp the meaning of everything
maybe I won’t, and I’ll just be falling
some habits never change
I trim my nails short and never paint them
the residuals of being a musician
I’m listening to old songs I didn’t like and loving them
have I changed?
am I better, or worse?
everything I do is wrong
I’m really nothing special
and I’m glad.
IV. the world is blue
I’m so glad to have had you,
even just for a short time.
you’re a book and
I’m just a page in it
not just a line
but not a chapter.
I love this feeling of being known,
of being understood perfectly,
without the need to explain myself.
I can’t get close enough to you.
I can’t get enough of you.
I was only ever yours to break.
but I made you all up
you’re not real, and you don’t exist.
the world is blue,
and I’m still thinking of you
V. it’s autumn and the sun sets early.
the wind has a bite to it and so do your words.
the leaves fall and so does my heart.
it’s always sometime like this,
when I analyze and overanalyze and
think and overthink
until I’m someone I no longer recognize.
until I ponder the meaning of my existence and
come up with silly reasons.
I need to read more books.
I haven’t finished that TV show.
I need to go to that concert I bought tickets to.
sometimes these reasons feel
monumental, colossal, bigger
like I’m just a speck in this ever-evolving world.
never growing bigger, but
never getting smaller.
I recognize my issues but I don’t want to be fixed.
my problems are who I am.
it’s conditioned in me, and
as much as they hurt, they also comfort.
maybe I can coexist-
codepend on this unbearable weight of my own guilt,
my lost talent,
my elapsed potential.
maybe I’ll stop thinking that I’m never doing enough.
and stop being terrified that I’ll wake up one day and realize