My whole life I grew up never belonging to any place
In my nineteen years of life, I have lived in thirteen different houses and apartments, not including the motels in between when my family had no where else to go.
I guess that's why I began to bury myself with the people I was surrounded with.
To say I was there.
But by the age of sixteen, I had been fucked over so many times it was hard to not see myself as one of the motel rooms I use to lay in on the outskirts of town.
Rusted doorknobs, off-white paint peeing at the corners and a lampshade that looked like it hadn't been touched in two decades.
I was worried that I had been so use to drowning in others that I had forgotten how to swim,
That I would always be the person you love before you find "the one".
I just wanted to know what it would be like to be caught up in a dream instead of writing my name behind padlocks I didn't have the combination for.
And I'm not one to usually publish myself.
I just take my heart out,
Put it on the nightstand
And often times forget to wear it.
But recently, I've been placing it under lock with my name neatly written behind it because somewhere I have always belonged, is to myself.
