the family

sometimes you've got to run
from everything you want or don't,
everything you know or don't;
sometimes you've got to run,
so you can fall into the arms
of exhaustion,
so you can rise
gritting your teeth and skin,
resolving to not plod on;
sometimes you've got to run
from where you think you belong,
from those strokes that appease
and quieten wrangled nerves,
so you can find your home -
not a house with walls and doors,
but the place where you were raised,
where there were no parents rocking cradles
or lovers making up with hugs,
only strangers holding your hands,
and the quiet, still, clarion calls
to wake up to where I truly belong -
the family of voices inside,
where everyone is heard and loved.
even when they run.