When you flew home
The nest was filled with all the best things.
I made it that way for you.
There was no right way to talk to you.
The eggshells broke beneath my feet,
much as I tried to tread softly.
Yes, I feel owned.
Owned by my circumstances.
Owned by my choices.
Owned by your well of sorrows.
And in this bed, with spines eye-to-eye,
this nest feels so alone.
And I wonder where to fly to find home.
– Nisha Moodley