Home by J. Shrefi
Prison is the home wayward teens runaway from. A home out of which you seek emancipation. Home is where the heart is, and in this place I’ve a dried husk in its stead. My pulse is non-existent, I am figuratively dead.
Which way is up? Are my feet on the ground? I’ve been kidnapped for years but now feel more lost than I do found. This day is what I’ve dreamt of, the day that I’ve longed for. What purpose might I have now? No longer a medic in the Air Force. Will I be a good father? Do I know how to be? Do I jump right in or ease my way back into my kid’s lives, the good Lord knows I want to do this right. I’ve been absent, but I’ve called. I’ve called and I’ve called…nevermind these fears just be there and fill that void your absence has caused.
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