I walk into a home but it’s not mine
the carpet stinks
the bathroom wall is covered in mould
and I feel like I’m being stripped to the bone with cold,
the walls are closing in on me and I can’t breathe; no breaks.
If this was a place meant for refuge, why do I not feel safe?

My ‘home’ was like a cage meant for display ,
but I must not let them pry, or creep or glare or stare.
My ‘home’ felt like a place a stranger let me share,
they handed me this ‘home’ without a single care.
Why did I, a child, have to shout this is not fair!
But now I can say - look at these scars they left to bare.

Sometimes it felt like crying into the sky, hoping for an answer,
when they never planned for it to be there.