Home is a Place to Me
There are many houses, ones I’ve lived in
Many places where I laid my head,
but there are no memories of these places.
Instead they emulsify, and have been lost,
in a great mass of a bad childhood,
with bland details and forgettable names.
That place you call home is only so...
because your brick and wooden houses, are home
to you...to me it’s another place.
A new one, again.
A place without carvings in a doorframe,
one with no holiday cheer of many years.
There is no attachment
and it has no hold over me, these places...
that you call home.
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