I Want Normal

I want normal.
Except.
What even is normal?
So maybe I don’t want normal.

But I don’t want this.
I don’t want a house that isn’t a home.
I want a building I look forward to entering
And humans
That don’t lie in wait with insults
And anger
And untruths.
I don’t want this fear that rolls across my skin
Like mist after a storm of acid rain.
I don’t want the insistent pull of dread on my sternum when I think of pulling my car into that gravel driveway.

I want faces that welcome me.
Not faces that remind me
That I do not belong
Not even to those whose DNA I share.

I have wanted this for years.
After He left,
With his violent rage
And the turmoil
That coated our walls
I thought I could finally have it
A home
A safe place

But instead,
These walls have lost what little security they had
And they begin to feel like a shirt made of burlap ~
Uncomfortable and unwanted,
But as a covering, necessary.