The lost kids; Home

You said we felt like home….      
     
I remember the story of      
how your brother was      
afraid of a rooster      
so your dad      
locked you in a      
chicken coop      
all night      
with the bugs      
and the shit      
and the cold      
     
The way he lashed out      
and hit you in the head      
for not understanding      
your homework      
     
the shit he did      
to your mom      
when you      
were in the      
next room      
     
Home.      
We feel.      
Like…      
     
And I remember getting      
orphaned and raped on      
the same day      
     
And that became      
a way of life,    
a thing like      
brushing my teeth      
or taking pregnancy tests      
because I was too young      
to have a period      
     
I remember being groomed      
by men      
addicted to my      
porcelain youth      
and dark hair      
in legal human      
sex trafficking      
     
I mean foster care      
     
I remember running      
away so much      
that running      
became a way of life      
     
Home.      
Was.      
….      
     
so when you tell me      
I feel      
like      
home      
     
A part of me nods      
yes.      
     
Yes. That’s true.      
     
We are a terrible place      
     
and I curl against      
thoughts of      
you and I      
stuck      
in our      
lost-child patterns      
     
thinking this time      
there might be a bed      
without bloodstains      
     
But my love,      
there never is      
     
there never is a bed      
without bloodstains,      
we just got used      
to their texture