The Moment

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can’t breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

— Margaret Atwood

sometimes

sometimes i’d rather die than be bound to my “home”

sometimes i’d rather fail off the bat than be told i’ll fail all along

sometimes i’d rather be a pile of dirt than have to look at myself in the mirror

sometimes i’d rather truly have no one than only have people who pretend to care

sometimes i’d rather not be here at all than to be ignored

sometimes i just want the pain to stop for 5 minutes.

sometimes i just need to take a breather.