Home Sweet Home

Real homegrown boy. Stands atop the red, white, and blue and feels the magic. True patriot—laps up the American dream. Starves. Our upbringing impacts all of us to an extent. His impacts him more than he thinks.

Never seems quite at peace. Always keeps one foot out the door. If he isn’t joking about it, he speaks in hushed tones, making minimal eye contact. Humor is the armor he wears. One of the smartest people I’ve met, but you know his heart burns cold when he thinks of himself. Self-hatred wrapped in gift paper.

We play tug-of-war for fun and tighten the web we’ve been sewn into. My idea of him changes with every conversation like wet clay being molded. I have a lot of questions for him I can’t ask. The answers come in slivers—light coming through closed blinds. No stranger to spirals or sleepless nights. The chalk slowly gets wiped from the pavement with every rain.