Where I Drop My Facade

Home is where I kick off my Louboutins at the front door,

Drop my flawless facade, walk bare-footed to the fridge

Grab a tub of rocky road and a big spoon,

Plop down into my favorite chair--the one with the cushion with a permanent indentation from my ass--

And binge watch the next mind numbing Netflix series.

Home is where I pull up my coiffed hair into a messy top knot with no notice or regard

To what the watchers think, where

I slouch on the couch in baggy pajamas stained from last night’s pizza and regret.

Home is my space--where social rules, expectations, and decorum are scraped on the door mat with the shit on my shoes,

Where I say what I want, eat what I want, look how I want, do what I want.

Home is my last refuge,

My hideout,

My retreat to recharge, renew,

And reassemble the puzzle of my perfect public persona,

The one I use to navigate the

Landmines outside my door

For one more day.