Maybe So by Nevaeh S. Taylor

Home.
So warm and sweet like ginger tea on a Sunday morning.
Little ones giggling about absurd things, as they should be.
The world no longer a drab, but rather vibrant and brilliant;
I wonder if this is how dogs experience colorblindness.
The opponent was no longer a rival, but a friend;
Makes me wonder who the true enemy is.
Everyone spoke so softly that it felt like clouds were brushing
against my ears.
The absence of strife seemed somewhat strange...
This is not home.

Home is like unsweetened chocolate and high expectations,
It’s sour and harsh.
It’s as sharp and piercing as the leading edge of grass.
With arguments starting just to simply be involved in something.
Grey and thick air; maybe that’s why it’s hard to take a deep breath.
No reason for the enemy to be the enemy.
I guess it’s just inherited.

Why is this home?
When everything about it seems more like a nightmare than a dream,
How can this be the place I call home?

My eyes were struck by light as the sun struggled to peek through
the drapes.
I cracked them open, and I smiled.
Knowing that type of tenderness must be true even in a world
like mine.
Considering that it is impossible to appear to know something
that does not exist.
Perhaps it wasn’t a dream or a nightmare;
It was hope.