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the Anxiety from Going Home

I’ve already met my maker. I came out of her womb one December.

And she’s been reminding me of that day ever since that day.

Seven days between airports and I don’t have a room to hide in anymore from all the guilt that I have in store just from the fact that I was born.

Childhood ghosts and memories, another life’s version of me, an alternate history buried in old photography.

At least there’s not so much of that since I’ve been running from the lens.

Ever since I’ve had the legs to do so, I’ve run.

Familiar faces, familiar places, in and out of good graces. Sentiment, it replaces, memories of all of life’s changes.

Even with warm embraces, it just feels like we’re going through the paces.

Going home again makes me feel as though I don’t have any home at all.




© Michael Salamone      –      Salatone Recordings      –      Michael Salamone Publishing

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