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Brianna

A Place of My Own

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I found this poem rummaging through some of my old things from high school. I wrote it back in high school when I was desperate to get out of my parents' house and on my own.

***

Everywhere I go, my space is borrowed

With nary a place at all to call my own.

But someday I will roam

To a place I will know is home.

Where my own space will have found me,

Where my own things will surround me,

With my life built all around me.

It is the vision that carries me through.

Let me go soon.

***

I had read Rand's fiction at the time, but was not really an Objectivist. Now that I have achieved the sentiment of the poem, it is very strange to read it again and remember those days, especially since I do not actually remember writing this one.

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I found this poem rummaging through some of my old things from high school. I wrote it back in high school when I was desperate to get out of my parents' house and on my own.

***

Everywhere I go, my space is borrowed

With nary a place at all to call my own.

But someday I will roam

To a place I will know is home.

Where my own space will have found me,

Where my own things will surround me,

With my life built all around me.

It is the vision that carries me through.

Let me go soon.

***

I had read Rand's fiction at the time, but was not really an Objectivist. Now that I have achieved the sentiment of the poem, it is very strange to read it again and remember those days, especially since I do not actually remember writing this one.

I like this, Brianna, I’m glad I came across it while browsing through the posts. Thank you for sharing it. It reminded me of a poem I wrote many years’ ago when my daughter left home to attend university. She was excited to be beginning a new, independent life while I was suffering from a bad case of “empty nest” syndrome. Looking at my poem now it strikes me as being a tad soppy, but it's how I felt at the time. Here it is, if you're interested.

ON A DAUGHTER LEAVING HOME

Your photos in my album bring

Fond memories that sting

My eyes with nostalgic tears

As I reminisce over bygone years.

I yearn the times you came to me,

For soothing words; my comforting knee.

I miss the urgent way you’d shove

In my palm crayoned notes of love.

Your whispered secrets; your posies of weeds;

How well they all nourished my maternal needs!

Then suddenly (as if overnight!)

Independence came to give new sight,

And to your youthful conscience brought

New love, new life, new thought.

I question my sadness after helping you test

Fledgling wings that took you from the nest,

And reason replies it’s a job well done

When chicks take off and are gone.

Yet still I succumb to the folly

Of this all-absorbing melancholy.

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