Home is a strange place.
Some homes are nice and warm, others are cold and harsh.
Then there are homes like mine. Where you had several homes. You had mom and dad and then also stepmom and many possible stepdads.
Your home never was one place it was many. Sometimes that home would change.
My home was with my family. But they were never together so my home was always broken. Always split. A sister and half brother whom i never talked to, and friends whom i never really knew. The one home that always was there was my imagination. Creative ideas and adventures within my own head.
No matter how much i tried i could never explain it to other kids. Parents thought i was over imaginative and kids my age thought i was that weird quiet kid.
It turns out that the home inside my head was a coping mechanism i learned to survive the loneliness of my childhood. A world that would never break like everything else. Except it did break. It broke many times and helped break me further.
I will never have the same chances i did as a kid because no one realized what i was going through and how much loneliness could kill a child. I hid my true colors from the world and not many people have seen them now.
My home protected me.... And now that home is gone.
