Lessons on "Home"
Six poems that trace the long way back to self
Poems by Alexandra Wark
Title: Home
We grow up wanting to leave home. We grow up thinking of the excitement and fulfillment that another place brings. We grow up thinking that once we leave home, we’ll finally be able to be the best version of ourselves. We’ll finally be able to be free, successful, happy, independent or whatever else we hoped to be in our lives.
But what happens when you realize that the humid city air doesn’t have the same bite to it as the chill of a lakeside breeze. What happens when the dirt roads lined with pines start calling your name louder than the pavement lined with high rises. What happens when staying out on the lake all day and staring up at the midnight stars becomes the good old days instead of the bottomless brunches and 2am uber rides. What happens when the zeros in your bank account don’t fill the hole in your heart where home should be.
What happens when you finally realize that the place you’ve been wanting to leave all of these years isn’t tied around your ankles like you thought, but your heart instead.
Title: Welcome to the City
I’ll never forget the magic of stepping onto that rooftop for the first time
The Nation’s Capitol building felt almost close enough to touch
During the day, the city was sunlit and buzzing around you
You could see evidence of its vibration in the hot summer air
You could take a dip in the pool to find reprieve from the scorching sun
And when the sun sets, the colors melt together across the entire sky, giving backdrop to the cityscape
I didn’t think it could get more beautiful
But then it got dark and the buildings twinkled, a kind of pseudo starry night
It was a magic that, try as you might, could never be bottled up - to be saved for later
Similar to a Michigan summer or driving with the windows down on a back road
But this one was different
It made my inner 5 year old feel like all of our dreams could come true, from right here
This very rooftop
And they probably could
Title: A Typical Night in 1345
My Alexa hummed, perched precariously on the ledge of the spanning windows
A view of the back alley where Layla likes to chase rats on our night walks
Heavy on the midnight rain lyrics “he wanted a bride I was making my own name”
Sipping wine and painting a canvas
Concocting the perfect order of serums for my bedtime skin routine
Reading The Zodiac Collection poetry in candlelight
The corresponding Spotify playlist’s buzzing highs and lows sending the flames dancing along the wall
These days felt so lonely
I hid from roommates I barely knew in my massive bedroom with hardly any furniture
A U-Haul box from my move 8 months ago, doubling as a bedside table
It was hard to imagine then, ever missing those days
But there’s such a nostalgia that comes along with the mess of finding yourself
There were no rules
Title: Home???
When you grow up, leave home, and come back to visit
It feels like home, but something feels different
Maybe your parents packed up your old room
Maybe your siblings went off to college
Maybe your parents split up
Maybe all of the above
Whatever the case may be, enough has changed that it hits you:
While this is still home, it’s not the home that you left
And it’ll never be what it used to be
Whether this is a lesson on passage of time or home I don’t know - it’s both really
But it’s all more complicated by the fact that where you moved to doesn’t quite feel like home either
So now we find ourselves going from comfortable and secure, to wandering vagabonds overnight
I got so caught up in trying to figure out the perfect place to make my new home, so that maybe one day it would feel like it - that I didn’t realize the simple answer
Nowhere is our home
Everywhere is our home
Maybe what makes a home is how you fill it - that’s the critical part that we’re missing
I’m not talking about the perfect decor like Tik Tok and Instagram would like to make you believe
I’m talking about loved ones, friends, family, pets, plants
I’m talking about full belly laughs and story telling around the table, good pasta and wine stained lips
I’m talking about jazz music and candles while you dance in the kitchen
I’m talking about meditating with the morning sun rays shining through the window
I’m talking about crying on your friends shoulder on the front steps
Watching a Disney movie on the couch
Making a cup of coffee to run out the door with
The home that we’re longing for isn’t our childhood bed and stuffed animal
The home that we’re longing for is family dinners at the dining room table, our parents telling us five more minutes on the tv, fighting with our siblings about anything and everything, playing with our neighborhood friends and knowing we have to be home when the streetlights come on
We’re not 10 years old anymore
We can’t bring that home back to life
The more energy we spend wishing that we could, the more energy we take away from being able to build our new home
Wherever we are, right now
These are the pieces you can’t buy from Ikea
Title: The Stuff I’m Made Of
I am made up of Michigan summers
Jumping in the lake
Water droplets drying on skin while laying under sun rays
Country music with the windows down and doors off
Tipsy kisses and sun kissed cheeks
Pink and orange sunsets over the water
Laying out on the dock, staring up at stars glistening in the night sky
Now I carry them with me, wherever I am
Breathing the air a little deeper when I’m by water
Always bringing a swim suit just in case there’s an opportunity to jump in
Going to country concerts
Stopping and appreciating the sunset in the middle of the city - in the middle of a commute
When you look for it, you can appreciate
That there are little bits of home all around you
Maybe I never really left it
And maybe it never really left me
Title: Home Is Me, Home Is Us
I realized that maybe home is not so much a physical place
But, within me
It’s us
Wherever we are, is where home is
Us, and the community that we build along the way
Maybe home is the people that hold you better than four walls ever could
Debut poetry collection coming spring 2027. Subscribe to my Substack for more learnings and thoughts on life that read like a voice note from your deep friend at 2AM.
© 2026 Alexandra Wark
Cannot wait for the Debut poetry collection!!!
beautiful