Returning Home

This year may be the hardest yet.

There is always a pre and post depression

Like the drills of athletes done before a big game.

Majority of the time, I can handle the pregame.

I distract myself with looking forward to time spent with family and friends.

I get to see my beloved desert and snow-capped mountains.

The bridge arches with a welcoming grin,

Walls of the canyon like arms reaching out

For my embrace.

But this year the before did not come easily.

This place, I know every stop light and median.

The dirt roads have my tire treads memorized

From nights where emotions weighed down my car.

Most years,

I can look past my ugly history in this town

Because ultimately this is home.

Instead, my thoughts are being suffocated with the person I used to be.

Memories like long bony fingers gripping tightly around my neck.

My face flushed red with embarrassment of my mistakes,

Stomach churned with pure disgust.

I fear running into ghosts from my past who continue to haunt me.

If only they knew there was change,

The girl who grew up in this desert has died and in her place is something new.

I am a modern day Frankenstein.

Though technology has failed to create a time machine

The backspace button sits comfortably on every key board.

So if you would erase the memories of me.

For I fear that I never will.

Is not circumstance to be bettered with time?

Instead I spend the nights in bed with tears in my eyes.

Like a desert who rarely rains but when it does

It pours.

You cannot control the weather.

Pushing away those closest

In fear that they may discover what the past holds

Between its wretched old hands.

When did the home cease to be where the heart is?

No, my heart runs the other way.

It builds walls of brick on each and every side.

To be a prisoner to self is better

Then a life enslaved to blunder.

The question is when does it end?

A place that I hold so dear is the source of my pain.

Bringing out the worst side of a bad me.

Can you move on from the soil that nurtured you

From sprout to stock?

Or will it let you wither away?

Dehydrated and scorched by others opinions.

They are blind to anything other than

The person they knew before.

But you stumble home like the drunk you are.

How is it that you used to drink away the pain of leaving?

And now drink tempts you to forget you are going.

Returning home was hardest this year.

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