Will I ever be able to call this place my home?
I don't feel the warmth of a home here,
I don't feel the love of a home here,
I don't feel the satisfaction of a home here,
I'll adapt,
I'll adjust,
But I'll never be truly happy,
I can only pretend,
I can only fake,
The curves of my smile,
I'm here to make my future,
I'm here to make a life,
But does that hold a meaning,
Sacrificing all I have,
And all I want,
Does my happiness has no worth?
Am I this miserable?
That I'm writing a poem,
Whining over what is not possible,
And expecting all this to be a dream,
Wanting to leave this place,
A place full of filth,
A place that destroyed my inner peace,
A place I will never call mine.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryIf you're the one who's tired of trying, If you're the one who's had it enough, You might like my work
