Home

I can never really find home.
I am sort of never enough for any space
not brown enough
not queer or trans enough
and not fuckable
I have not unpacked my bags since I was 16 years old
Since my parents took me to my first round of conversion therapy
trying to pray away my sickening disease
telling me that disgusting that I deserve to be homeless.
What I thought was home,
blossoming tree surrounding 1088 sq ft haven,
became a source of emotional abuse toxicity
like a red rose rotting
or bread going moldy.

So from then on out I have sort of decided that I should just be on my own;
try to be close to people, but never close enough that they would miss me
be vulnerable, but never enough to display that I am in pain or display too much to so that people don't associate with me.

It has been a hard six years since then, sleepless nights, self-depreciation,
spontaneous Dunkin Donut Runs
and researching the perfect tiny house community.
So right now I am feeling everything.

I need 10 people to give me a hug at the same time.
The caring, funny, and blunt facets that people think of me as
I think the opposite.
I think of myself as
I think part of me is afraid to feel settled down.
To feel the love of others and to be content,
Because that is something I have never felt.

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