Akin

I’m still trying to find myself,

Out of all the rubble.

So much has been buried with the house I called my own,

Again, I search for another home.

Have I forgotten my soul?

Has she been lost in the soot and charcoal?

No, she is here; She must be close.

How else would I have held onto minuscule grains of hope?

Life’s engulfing changes caging me, as if my hands were tide with rope,

Trapped within my hollows, forbidden from the ones I called home.

Nestled in my ribs still a brass key lives,

Destined for the hole where my heart buried its sins,

Praying for my spirits akin.