Coming Home

It’s not the rush that keeps you whole,

Not fight or flight that feeds your soul, 

It’s what arrives when noise is gone,

The part of you that comes undone.

It’s not the shout, it’s not the name,

It’s not the beast you couldn’t tame,

It’s what comes after fear has passed,

The one who waits, who comes in last.

It pulls your stomach into flow,

It breaks it down to soft and slow,

It folds your breath within your chest,

Unlocks your jaw, and leaves you blessed.

It dims the lights behind your eyes,

And lets the sleeping storm subside,

It tells the heart: you’re not a drum,

You’re safe right now, let silence come.

This is the branch that doesn’t burn,

The one that teaches cells to turn,

It’s not a fight, it’s not escape,

It’s coming home in your own shape.

Cathrine Hottran 2025