Something is growing inside, 

in my soul, in my belly

where my truth lies. 

Something is growing in my head, 

in my thoughts, 

where my smarts live. 

Something is growing at the ends of my fingers, 

the very tips, 

where my creativity sits. 

It is something that tingles, 

buzzes, wants to fly. 

It is something that burns, 

warm, like the beginning

of hope. 

Like the once sunshine

of home. 

Something is singing, softly, 

but growing louder, 

something is laughing, softly, 

it waits, it sings, 

it giggles, excited. 

Something is spilling over out into

my heart, my belly, my soul, my head, my fingers. 


I’m coming home.