Prena Poetry

i miss home, but then i am not sure if i am missing a place or a feeling. because the last time i went home, slept in my childhood bed and ate from my mother’s plate—i still missed home.

perhaps, the home that i can now only visit in between the seconds of longings and nostalgia. the day after i turned 18, i truly lost a part of myself. that old part full of logic, definitions, black and white, and belonging. i am still it not sure what fills up the crater in my mind that often feels like a graveyard of things i loved and buried them for god’s sake.

i feel like a post nuclear island; stranded in a wonders of confusion, looking at the psychedelic disarray of reflections i can’t be. loneliness and loveliness and tiredness, wrecking the cities into ciders. i no longer hold a definition, an identity or even a mask to cover up the facade.

who am i?

who am i not?