Everybody has a place
that they call home.
My home, was my humble room.
I loved waking up 
during the hours when 
the morning light
would peek through my window
and warm my bare skin.
I loved waking up
to the view of my glorious bookshelf
greeting me 
with promises of adventure.
I loved the feeling
of knowing i could steal a few hours
just laying in bed and reading a book.
It was my favourite time of the day
to do what i loved most
in my favourite place.
I had posters and polaroids
giving personality to my walls.
My room
was also my home
because when i closed my books
and turned to my phone
I'd see you.
You, with your positive good mornings.
You, with your genuine hope
For my day to be wonderful and blessed.
You, forming my first smile
for the brand new day.
I didn't know
That it was possible 
To feel even more at home.

But one day,
One day my pillow started to catch 
all of my tears.
My books, my posters
Became witnesses to my lonely nights,
When i'd hug my knees and cry.
When i'd sob into the pillow
as silently as i could, 
so that my sister wouldn't hear
from her room next door.
They watched me break apart, night after night.
They saw my mother one night
Hugging my soulless body.
Trying to comfort me 
With "you deserve better"s
And "it isn't meant to be"s.
Day by day
I came to resent my favourite place.
Because how could i not?
When home was now associated
with pain and grief and tears and a shattered, broken heart?
When it takes so much effort,
Too much,
To wake up and not remember
how you always greeted my mornings
with so much hope
and reassurance
and love?

You didn't just break my heart
when you walked away.
You took away my home.

— n. a. 


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2017 Reading Challenge

2017 Reading Challenge
Kamalia has read 15 books toward her goal of 50 books.