Home Is Where You Make It



Leaving home is hard
when you’ve never had one.
No foundation to launch from
a hole where
the hearth needed to be

the difference between
searching and exploring

is insecurity

“go off into the world” they said
I think the world has gone off on me, an explosion
of chaos, suffering, and anxiety
“What about the next adventure?”, you inquire

I make it up, out of the stories
you’re hoping to hear
A child of survival and ingenuity;
lying has generally served me as a wanderer.

Some people feel like home;
all spirit and struggle
and when they touch you, you belong

feeling the call can be confusing
when no one has brought you to the fire before
to teach you that its beauty burns

Restoration triggers resignation,
fight or flight and I am off
a child of urgency
the shadow-baby on my hip
that I carry, over protective of all
that might swallow her up
or disconnect her from the
cord that ties her to the truth
that I am still seeking out

once I understand love
I will shelter her with enough
that I can find the place
and people
and stay so she may not needlessly be
agitated by a life that
is all momentum and no gravity

When I am in one place for a long time
I pretend to love the walls,
I bake cookies and pay bills on time.

I still feel like a child
born to run away
intuitively knowing that home
is where you fake it

and if I pretend long enough
my delusion can become her
reality; a little place
to start from,
to come back to.

context for all the lives to come
home must be established by someones
blood, sweat, tears, and bones
let them be mine.


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