Home is one tree in the front yard.
Home is the horse-shaped tire swing my dad tied to the tree with an unreliable chain.
Home is the shallow, bustling creek that runs beside my house.
Home is climbing on the treehouse my dad built before a storm blew it into the field.
Home is wondering why Dad is mad all the time.
Home is wondering if it’s my fault.
Home is playing carnival with my cousins in the basement.
Home is my cousins making fun of me because I couldn’t ride a bike.
Home is crying when my cousins didn’t invite me to their party because I wasn’t their friend, not really.
Home is skipping church because it’s boring and my parents don’t make me go.
Home is the smell of steaming lasagna on a Sunday afternoon.
Home is telling Grandma that I can’t put a quarter in the crap jar because I don’t have any quarters.
Home is my cousin breaking the tire swing and trying to look like she wasn’t hurt.
Home is going to the creek to catch crawdads.
Home is my brother pushing me down in the creek because I called him stupid.
Home is sobbing, asking over and over why Dad doesn’t love me.
Home is the pain in my chest; the feeling that I can’t breathe.
Home is tip-toeing down the hallway because my dad is sleeping in the other room.
Home is the beer cans that pile up in his work truck and the trashcan.
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Home is waking up before sunrise for a fishing trip.
Home is crying because I have to pee and Dad won’t stop for a bathroom break.
Home is Mom sitting silently in the front seat with her hands folded on her lap, slightly trembling.
Home is going to dance every day.
Home is Dad picking me up from dance one day.
Home is the sound of Mom’s choked sobs as she comes down the stairs in the middle of the night.
Home is reassuring Mom that I forgive her for cheating on Dad and that she’ll always be my mom.
Home is hyperventilating in the intermediate school bathroom between sobs.
Home is getting a new bunk bed.
Home is quitting dance.
Home is arguments about money.
Home is escaping into John Green books.
Home is Dad starving himself and working out for hours.
Home is getting a t-shirt for Christmas.
Home is sneaking out of my room at night to look in the medicine cabinet for something that will end it all.
Home is the boy who I thought liked me getting back together with his ex.
Home is lying about my age so boys on Snapchat will talk to me.
Home is finding the sharpest knife in the drawer.
Home is the middle school principal calling my mom about what I did to myself.
Home is wearing the only pair of jeans I have to school every day.
Home is my family ignoring me.
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Home is going to Lake of the Ozarks for school shopping before high school and only picking out long-sleeved shirts.
Home is making new friends.
Home is realizing I’ve gotten fat.
Home is googling how many calories are in an apple, a banana, a cup of strawberries.
Home is sitting out while everyone else is swimming.
Home is, “Why are you wearing a hoodie? It’s a hundred degrees out.”
Home is shrugging my shoulders.
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Home is Mom telling me she wrote Dad a note.
Home is gathering all of Mom’s things from the house for two days by myself because who else was going to do it?
Home is having nobody to talk to.
Home is getting inducted into Honor Society.
Home is finally realizing that maybe I’m worth more than what I’ve been given.
Home is feeling pride in myself for the first time.
Home is picking apart pictures of myself.
Home is realizing that maybe life isn’t all about how I look.
Home is gathering the courage to get on the stage at church and sing Hold Onto Me by Lauren Daigle.
Home is talking to my parents more.
Home is hearing, “I’m proud of you.” for the first time.
Home is a Red Bull addiction.
Home is learning to heal all on my own.
Home is being loved, but not quite enough.
Home is realizing that what people do to me is a reflection of them, and not of me.
Home is learning more about myself and what I need to be happy.
Home is being accepted to colleges.
Home is realizing I have a bright future ahead of me, where at one point I saw no future at all.
Home is the person I have become, because of what I’ve done for myself.