Home is where the heart is.
My homes were always on water.
I would find mothers and fathers
in unconventional ways as mother
and father tried to understand my brain.
I was adopted, and
I was adopted by therapists,
by counselors–
by nomadic friends.
I was used to home
coming and going like shooting stars
over the horizon;
the comfort of belonging washed away
with all of my belongings,
and i began to pray for a place to belong.
Do I even belong?
Home was never where the heart is,
but love was always fleeting.
Houseboats that came to my shores
always left me.
It was a truth that I expected;
A truth that never freed me
until I had to love myself
before I decided to leave me.
Forecast: 14% Chance of Rain
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It's Raining Outside
Poesia[Completed] 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃. I don't know how else to say this, but... 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐬; 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧�...
