I’M TOO UNCOMFORTABLE TALKING ABOUT MY HOUSE

by Anonymous

I’m too uncomfortable to talk about my house. I don’t need people to know where I live.

It’s not like I was abused there or anything, it used to be a safe space for me when I was a kid, but instances from the outside just made it so it affects the way I live. I like my home, feel nostalgic living in the downstairs room.

My room was the biggest, and it was full of color. The walls were green, and sometimes the only light that would come in is the window since I’m scared of bright light.

But, I’m just not there anymore, my room had to be trashed for reasons, it’s something that would give my parents traumatic memories.

I don’t even know if I can be upstairs. I want to to my homework, but I’m so scared to sleep, Sometimes I just can’t eat.

Sometimes I use the bathroom for too long and it just gets to me.

When I was younger I was a lot more comfortable, I could sleep on my own and do things, but now I need to be around my parents because I’ve been taken and ridiculed from the outside countless times.

I just don’t want to describe my home since no one needs to know about it and I don’t need people to set expectations.

Home might be my safe space, but it’s best for you not to know about it.

My Happy Place

Nakiya B. Grade12

Crj

Alone in the house

As God’s watchful clouds Hover above, protecting me. I breathe, Releasing my unspoken worries.

I am able to walk on my own time, Finishing work at my own pace, Which is not a lot but enough. It means I have time to dive Into ideas kept in my headspace.

My bed embraces me. As I scroll through Pinterest, My heart fills with serotonin. It squeezes as I squeal At the sight of adorable fan-art.

Sheets tangle when I leave my bed Into my spinning chair, Which squeaks like a mouse. Paint stains my wooden desk, Signs of the many colorful messes I’ve made.

Music plays, giving my voice life. It hits notes low & high With vocal high fives. Books threaten to take my shelf down Into the soft brown waves of the carpet.

I grab one and pages flip While rain drops fall on the glass, Heavy as tapping fingers, As if eager for me to continue reading.

I gasp as the story twists and turns me around like a merry-go-round. Though thunder still looms, Calm creativity swirls throughout the room.

So, whether you call it a hut or a house, What you love, Or what you’re all about, For me, the fact remains, This is my happy place.