I never understood the concept of “home”
See- I feel the same where I rest my head as I do where I roam
I beg people to stay but once they do I leave
I don’t feel safe unless I have the choice to flee
I refuse to drop seeds
To let them get to know me
I grew up feeling like a stranger in what was supposed to be my home
An alien- surrounded by those telling me I wasn’t alone
I refused to unpack, believing every space I occupied was temporary
Careful not to provide comfort to the burdens I carry.
Inflicting misery upon everyone in my path
Just to make myself okay
But if they try to stand their ground
I quickly push them away
See home isn’t a tangible object, let alone a place
Home is a feeling I cling to for comfort from pain.