this is home.
i know i wasn't born here, and i know this isn't where i grew up.
it doesn't matter.
this is where i feel the safest to be myself. this is where people genuinely care about me. this is the place where i don't have to try so hard.
this is home.
i hate having to leave because in that other town i'm constantly being reminded of my past mistakes. i never claimed to be a good person. i tried so hard to be, but i could never get it right.
i tried so hard to get here, and it feels as if it was all worth it. i'm not perfect, and i never will be.
leaving here makes it harder and harder to hold onto that.
home isn't that town. home isn't those people i spent my whole life with.
home isn't there.
home is where people actually listen to me and take into account what i have to say. home is where they support me and take care of me and i feel safe.
this is home.
YOU ARE READING
exhale
Poetry"can i exhale for a minute? can i get this out in the open?" a collection of feelings molded into mediocre poems