I still remember that morning in my house the front door was open the sun was coming in and I was moving on my way into the garden I can still remember the smell of my home my things my skin in that space my life before it was split into other people’s hands Now my children say I smell different like a wood stove like damp walls like an estate left too long like something that used to be alive a smell that is not me but something placed over me I can still remember the smell of my home as if it could still be mine I had a home but I didn’t have it I was never homeless on paper only in reality I am my mother’s tax deduction so the equity keeps growing while I disappear from the equation I had properties I had keys papers with my name on them but no access money passed through my hands tax was taken as if it were mine and then it was withdrawn again behind my back by my mother it was called family but it was economic abuse systematic repeated calculated I lean my head back into the sun like I used to close my eyes and remember a body without weight fresh sheets clean skin a life before it was rewritten into someone else’s gain I can still remember the smell of my home my smell my life I was not homeless on paper I became it in reality I am my mother’s tax deduction so the equity keeps growing while I pay the price in silence I became homeless inside something that still stood a home emptied from within now we are in court she did not stop until someone stopped her she also emptied my father’s estates while dementia slowly took him and his life became access codes I no longer have a utility room to put my shoes in I can barely afford shoes anymore but it doesn’t matter I like walking barefoot as if the ground is the only thing that cannot be taken from me
