Unlocking the trap door to a Wonderland

constantly foraging for
this portal they call “home”
inside my own soul

don’t want robust pillars
or a penthouse apartment
don’t wanna cling to a shed
or even a dirty mattress discarded by a nature strip,

that innate portal
to seek respite in
when it’s dark and cold outside,
a realm that can relieve one from
the white heat that can blind a person if they stare too long

in my wandering mind,
this portal
is a majestic garden
with edible flowers and
rainbow waterfalls
with talking butterflies fluttering
amongst stacked bookshelves
lacing silk-petals through Tarzan’s treehouse and Falcor’s fur,
with wind chimes that disperse basil and lavender tones in the breeze
breathing through the sand and the grass,
amongst fairy floss clouds and lollipop windmills,

that stems from a rebellion against
the voices in my head that scream
“work in the grey buildings with cement staircases and walls,
chug all the petrol,
speed through your day
keep busy, do not delay”

unlearning the capitalist,
egoist scripture
pumping through city streets, classrooms and popular culture

unlocking every portal and person and book and activity within reach,
to find a fertiliser, some clear water
to balance the sunshine with the moonshine

away from negative thought trains, alcohol, caffeine, all nighters and over-apologising,
only sometimes, I give in to their lure
when the sight of the path home withers
beneath part-time work hours,
tram timetables, bills, ill health, self-doubt and the untold future

trying to find that supply vein
that connects the soul to
the eyes to the nose to the
tongue to the ears
until it pumps through my fingertips, illuminating everything I touch,
flourishing

digging up the roots of plants and flowers and weeds,
studying where their beauty stems from,
planting seeds in foreign places,
meeting foreign faces, words and laughter

synthesising this vast wonderland
within us,
through the hills, the valleys
the rivulets, the lakes
the potholes, the drawbridges,

we build the garden or spread weeds
through our words and our actions
whether we choose to or not
while trying to find this thing called home,
through these endless, maddening portals
which lead us back to ourselves

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