This is not home. No matter how much I’d like it to be. My only home is me. I’ll have beds that are comfortable, people I’ll love to lay with, but home will never be any of those. It will only ever be me. And it’s hard saying that seeing the way we’re all so perfect in this moment. Everyone has a good laugh now and again, but I’m always having a good one – I don’t want to laugh about this. If only we all could be comfortable in our own skin for long enough – No it’s not enough to fit in the skin, the labyrinth is where it all begins. I could tell you from the beginning I knew we’d have a hard time settling in.

5 thoughts on “Fragments

  1. tmezpoetry says:

    I get what you are saying and it is true through time and experience, we are home to everything we hold, experience and live. I know for myself too, what it is like feeling home in another and I realized that feeling when my mom died in 2005. It opened me open to that sense in a new way. Good poem, I appreciate it.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. It’s taken me years to figure this out. You can write about anything and explain it so the reader feels you are talking to them.
    Perfection. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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