It feels like I'm on a ventilator.
The sickness in the gut.
Gasping for freedom, from,
The cables monitoring me, my millimetre moves.
The cables sucking the patience out of me.

Tied up with consciousness,
Mask covering my words.
Tied up with the past,
Mask covering the future.
Tied up with myself,
Mask covering myself.

Swallowing the thoughts and words,
Spitting the smile and kindness.
Obliging to the sound of the ventilator.
Obliging to the rhythm of the heartbeat.
Obliging to not speaking up, listening to everyone.
Obliging to existing, not questioning.

It's further sickening to,
Be caught up in a house.
That didn't ever feel a safe haven.

After years that I come back here,
Look at myself In the same mirror,
In front of which,
I dressed for school.
In front of which,
I overcame my stutter.

Today when I look at myself in the same mirror,
I see a grown up woman.
I see the happiest smile.
I see the confident bitch.
Who has come to realise,
The safe haven she always yearned for,
The 'home' she always yearned for,
Is not anywhere, anything, or anyone
Is not in her mother, father, friend or lover.
But herself.
And the hug she gave herself, then,
Felt warm and home.

-uk