Home is a strange concept to me.
Because home has meant nothing and everything to me all at once.
Home has meant the scars on my arm,
The love bites from the night before,
The taste of the alcohol you drank on your lips.
But it has also meant the comfort I find in sitting on the floor.
The couch in your apartment.
The scent of your cologne.
Your laugh.
Home has also meant solitude.
Being the lone wolf.
Not having a pack to be part of.
Never feeling safe.
But all of that doesn't matter anymore.
The people I let in feel like home to me.
They soothe my soul.
They quiet the voices in my head.
I feel like I belong,
and that's home.
YOU ARE READING
Poems For A Rainy Day
PoetryOngoing collection of poems/spoken word. Adding to this as I go. Maybe I will actually publish this as an official book in the future.
