dandelions

When you are old

Your skin will become like paper,

And your bones will be like the wooden ribs

Of a lantern

So that the world will see the light in your chest.

But I don't need to wait

Can I go back

Back to the place I call home

Full of laughter and love

The place where I sleep above my friend

As I'm surrounded by so many others

Home is

trying not to smudge 

our still-sticky nail polish

on the carpet

as we sit

cross-crossed

on the floor

spilling secrets

& memories

our speech sliding

I found myself in the things I love

In the music I listen to

In the books I read

In the posters on my walls 

I found myself 

In my favorite drink

In going to the beach

In writing poetry