The millennial I am, I
tapped a heart on to your latest picture.
The millennial you are, you
thumbed a one-button affirmation back on mine.
17 years reduced to a series of zeros and ones
when all I want to do is say come home.

But if home is what you were escaping,
am I part of that demographic?
If home is what you were running away from,
then how can you say that you’re homesick?

If home is what you left behind then what exactly do you call where you are now?

And how did you decide he made the cut
and showed me up
and if you landed on my doorstep drunk again,
I might not open up so

yeah.
Maybe you were right.

Cos if you think the problem is at home,

then home’s the only thing you’ll ever know.

The irony of a 43
chapter textbook on semantics
laser-printed, stacked and hole-punched
right there on your messy workbench
in the early dawn.

I have no idea how
I should be taking those words now,

These fragments
of the things that I
just wish I would have said
that night are words you may have learned to

use as stepping stones to meet
with me halfway

But if I go and say them
now I’ll be afraid I’m
weighing down the
raft you built with
flesh and bone to
float yourself away from home
and find whatever you
can call okay