The place I called " Not home "
You know where I live…
No, let me tell you.
I live in a place wrapped in four walls,
yet I can never call it a home.
I live where peace arrives only
when people exhaust themselves
fighting, shouting,
or finally fall asleep.
I live where every day
a new reason for conflict is born—
a fresh wound,
a new attempt
to push someone down.
From the outside,
everything looks perfect—
a well-settled family,
a picture of harmony.
But step inside,
and you’ll see
how shattered
and scattered
everything truly is.
We all walk around
wearing borrowed smiles,
acting like we belong to one another,
only so the world
won’t take advantage
of this broken household.
Those stories of happy families—
mothers, fathers
loving their children—
sound like scenes
from some distant film.
Where I live,
there is only one way to survive—
hear everything,
and pretend you heard nothing.
In a corner,
with my book in my lap,
I keep wondering:
how long must I show respect
out of fear
and not out of love?
Yesterday was the same.
Today is no different.
And outside this window
lies a strange world—
full of glitter,
full of lies—
yet somewhere in it,
there is also
a breath of freedom
waiting for me.
By ~𝓳𝓲𝓪