home.

i am sitting in my house

but i am not at home.

home is where i feel accepted.

home is where trust abounds, radiant and secure.

at home, i can smile and share my thoughts

and people will understand.

what is this residence in these pretty chicagoan suburbs?

this is where i sleep at night.

this is where my blood family lives.

but this is not my home.

here i am aloof from the other strangers that inhabit this space.

they fortify their walls against my protests and encroach on my own.

they slam and coerce and decimate my one corner of comfort

so the only warm, safe sancutaries are miles and walls too far

and i am left to cry standing on the threshold to nowhere.

this is not home.

i don't know what is anymore.