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.