home is nowhere


Home is everywhere, 

so home is nowhere. 


I was born of two nations, 

three cultures, 

and have a made home of all places. 


It’s the crux, the beauty and the curse. The confounding, the comforting, and the end point of it all. I have made, found, home in too many places, so home has become no place. 


There is the place I live,

where rest my head

and eat my breakfast.


And there is the place I run to,

to keep my heart,

and make sense of my mind.


They are not the same. 

Have not been for some time.

May not overlap in the rest of my,

lifetime. 


Yet it is not all so tragic as this, not so dreary and weary. I am safe and warm, my sheets are as clean as I keep them. There is water in my tap, and soap on my counter, the oven cooks my food and feeds my family. 


And while where I hide my heart, and where I rest my head may no longer hold the same address, I am still home. If I ever so choose to be there, I am home. 

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