incoherent poetry

"You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden, even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone. You’ll see one day when you move out. Just sorta happens one day, and it’s gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It’s like you feel homesick for a place that doesn’t even exist. Maybe it’s like this rite of passage. You won’t ever have that feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself. You know, for your kids. For the family you start. It’s like a cycle of something. Maybe that's all family really is; a group of people who miss the same imaginary place." - Garden State

maybe it's my fault after all
I fall prey to my own conceptualizations of
how things were,
and what they should be now

I look longingly to the past
selecting the images and phrases that make me feel
at home again, at peace again

but things were never really that perfect
nothing ever is
but it's hard for me to be
objective
and understand our current balancing act
of affection, discipline, and encouragement

I am unable to make grand statements about
how functional we are
"functional" is such a non-descript and stringent word
but all I know
still
is that I miss your presence

I love you, for that I have no doubt
and you will always be my mother

the one who used to braid my hair
who often yelled at me, for good reason
the one who shared my tears
and my laughs
the one who still kisses me goodbye

happy mother's day