Looking Through the Eyes of an Adult

Home is where family is.
Where love envelopes you like a blanket;
Somewhere to feel warm and safe.
A place to make crop circles in the carpet,
as laughter echoes down the halls.
Where meals are eaten together,
and movies are watched under that loving blanket.
Shoulders are offered when crying,
and balls stumble into neighbor territory.

I realize now, that kind of home doesn't exist anymore.

Shouting replaces the laughter that used to echo down these halls.
Tears are now soaked up by silent, hard pillows.
Blankets have become ice, trapping the hostile air underneath
so haunting words can be whispered to us in our dreams.
We eat alone, floors and rooms distancing us.

This place is not a home; just a place where I currently reside.

The rose colored glasses of childhood have fallen.
Cold adult eyes are realized.
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