(This Is A Thought/vent Poem! Aka, Inspired By My Own Experiences)

(This is a thought/vent poem! Aka, inspired by my own experiences)

Home.

"What is a place that you call home?"

I was asked some months ago.

To answer that inquiry I must determine

what counts as a home and what merely as a dwelling place?

Is a home somewhere you stay?

somewhere to live while you slowly decay?

Or is a home filled with laughter and joy?

With the newfound happiness of a fancy new toy?

If the answer is the latter, then what else can I say,

then "I don't think I call anywhere a home, either way."

For I don't hear laughter in either place.

I don't hear happiness no matter where I stay.

for whether I stay in the place my family owns

or the house they placed me in far down the road,

the only place that feels like home

is those fleeting moments I feel safe within a voice's tone.

But those belong to either place,

in fact, they don't really belong to any at all.

they belong to the people that live outside those houses' walls.

They belong to people who would answer if I called.

And so when someone asks me what place I call home,

I must simply tell them "There is no place I call home.

"my heart does not lie in one place or another,

"Rather it travels along with me wherever I discover,

"the closest friends someone could have."

And though this thought tears my soul

I must just understand that this is how it goes.

For a girl who finds no home within a place,

must reach for another's embrace.