an adjournment of scars, an endearment of stitches

172 | this is the place

This is the place
people tell me
to call my home
where the floorboards
are streaked with blood
from sacrifices made
by unfulfilled dreams
and attempts at survival

This is the place
people expect me
to call home
where a thousand swords
line by bed whenever I wake
from vicious dreams
of monsters feasting
on my innards
while I can't run

I can't run
from this place people
told me to embrace
as my home
—a thousand souls
who didn't grow up
—trapped—
line the hedges and
guard the gates

A thousand worries of
whether tomorrow will come
A thousand fears of
the wrong things
being said and done
I can't run towards
the famed golden
city of safety
where happiness
is given freely

A thousand thorns
line the path
leading to victory
and I can't run
because my feet
are shackled by mediocrity
from this place—
where a thousand shards
of broken hearts lie untended
—This is the place
I have no choice
but to call home