Sometimes
in the middle of the night
I want to wake up
and write myself
a letter of apology
for all the times
I wanted to stop being
for all the times
I stopped “seing
my body as my only home
and then maybe somewhere
in between
I will make a promise
that I’ve been unable to before
that was there
on the tip of my tongue
but I was too afraid
to utter it
maybe a promise
to never be homeless again
to walk in myself
to open the windows every morning
and let fresh air in
to feed the birds bread
and put on the radio
to dust off the kitchen shelves
to sit on the porch
and keep drinking tea
till my heart’s content
till my soul turns pink
and finally confesses
how it yearned for this
all along.