hiraeth.

homesickness

How i miss my past life,
Where me and my child lived together,
Undisturbed by surrounding strife.
Had i not gone close to my child,
Had i not dragged the knife..

Across its skin i dragged,
If only i listened, instead of nag.
I was a mother, not a hag.

Do you believe me when i say i’m good?
If only you saw me,
And where i stood.
Me and my child sagged under the hood,
Of a house that was made with weak, fragile wood.

Home sickness i feel,
It was back then, when i truly felt real.
My child is gone, i did not heal,
I continue dance, only appeal,
Now over a hood, made of steel.
Leftovers and grass as meals,
The thought of my past feels surreal.

I long my old home, and its dusty walls,
Dinner i made, my people i called.
I sit under steel and stare,
If only i was good, if only i had played fair.