by Victoria Lane

Every time I come to visit, 
I stay for hours. 
But I’d stay for days, 
For years, if you’d let me, 
A princess in a tower. 

It’s hard to leave 
When here I once returned. 
Coming here meant going home. 
Now what’s left for me, 
This house of bones? 

I know I can’t stay. 
It’s not my home anymore. 
But I can’t bring myself to drive away, 
To even stand and walk out the door. 

Now my home is one of convenience, 
A single rented room I have no hope to ever own. 
I pay for my twin bed, desk, and paint-peeled walls, 
And I return in the summer to someone else’s home. 

If I ever have children, 
I will build a house with a thousand rooms, 
So that each child may someday return 
To a stable, unyielding place in the world. 

A forever home. 

I’d never turn their room into an office, 
Box up their things, or even paint the walls. 
I’d leave their posters there, 
Their photos, memories; I’d leave it all. 

They say a house does not make a home, 
But this life without a house, 
Living from dorm to dorm 
And spare room to spare room, 
Does not feel like home either. 

Victoria Lane is a graduating senior at Lindenwood, completing her degree with majors in Game Design, Digital and Web Design, and Art History. She plans to continue her education through Lindenwood’s Writing MFA, where she intends to write more original fiction and poetry. She loves to read comic books, collect action figures, watch films, play video games, make art, and yes, write.

Portfolio – victoriamlane.com

Instagram – @victoriamadilynlanee

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