sometimes i do think that
i’m better off lost in a forest
for to be found
i can just wear my shirt inside out

or wander long enough
to find my way back

being lost in some place
you know like the back of your hand
touches unhealed wounds
and sets you back to multiple realms

no, it doesn’t last long
you can always go back but —
always never not unscathed;
almost never not maimed

the corners of my childhood bedroom
are somehow the sharpest i’ve ever known
but also the most familiar there ever is

the kitchen in my grandmother’s house
caters ghosts i don’t think i will ever outgrow
even when i don’t believe in them anymore

the road that leads to my old school
grew trees i’ve never seen planted
street painted with colors
unmatched to my memories

sometimes i feel as if
i only ever visit
to fill up my emptied urns

repeatedly burying —
the dead and the undead

constantly holding on —
to the sense of belonging

all while never needing to be found

Editor’s Note: This article was first published in the Banaag Diwa 2025: Nasaag Literary Folio of Atenews.