I'm looking for a home.
I always think I've found it,
But I'm beginning to realize that maybe life
Is all about finding home,
And if you find it
You've finished.
Maybe life is just about chasing
Whatever makes you feel like you're home.

You know those people who burn love letters
After the breakup?
I'm not one of those people.
It hurts me to think that anyone could.
What sense is there in denying that something good happened
When such little good comes into such a long life?

When you said we should get a tattoo together
I knew you'd leave someday.
Is that weird?
I knew, that moment.
And I was sad about it for a month
But I never said anything-
When I know things, I just know,
And there is no reason to rush the end
If it's coming anyhow.

I wish I could say I didn't expect you
Not to miss me.
I wish I could say I didn't expect
Not to miss you.
But I see it all coming.
It's my special gift.
I know what home is
And I know when it leaves.
See, I don't leave home.
Home leaves me.
And that's okay.

But I think I need to say
Because I think it is important
That for a minute you were home
To me.

For a minute, your arms were enough.
Your husky smoker's voice,
Your fairy wing shoulders.
For the barest moment
I could see home in your eyes,
And oh,
I lived in that moment.

I am
Such a wanderer.
I'm not sure
I'll ever have roots.
No.
No
I'm not sure
Roots
Will ever have me.

Growing up I used to cry because I missed home.
With my head in my mother's lap
In my living room
I was just too young to explain
That I didn't know what I was homesick for
If I'd only ever lived in one house.

I thought I found home once,
The real kind
And I'm still homesick for that feeling,
That addictive, safe feeling
Of thinking you know what the next day
Will bring you
But
Just like home
That knowledge is never what or when or where
You expect it to be
And it never stays for long.

This isn't a love letter.
This isn't a goodbye, either.
Or maybe it is.
I suppose that
Is up to you.

I guess all I wanted to say is
Knowing you was like driving by a house in the suburbs
Late at night
And all the lights are on
And someone forgot to draw the curtains
So before you round the next curve you can see by accident
A slice of happiness
And maybe you see yourself there
With someone's arms around you
And a cat on the back of the couch
And in that moment
You're home
And then whoosh
It's gone behind the trees and you
Have to keep going forward
Because
Well

You've somewhere to be.

Knowing you
Was kind of like that.

There was a girl I loved in high school.
Freshman year.
And we had this big long corridor by the library, and it was muraled.
And right before the doors, there was a heating vent painted like the back of an old car,
And every time she passed it, she'd kick the bumper.
She graduated and went away,
And I didn't mention her anymore.

People think I forget.
People think it is possible to stop me loving somebody,
By distance or by cruelty or by advice, even.
And after a while, I do let them all think it.
It's easier for them.
But the truth is, on the last day of my senior year,
I walked by that vent, and kicked the bumper.

I decide if and when a person stops being important to me.
Try and force me and you might believe you won,
But in my little way,
In my quiet, every day sort of rituals,
I always have the last word on who I care about.

Every time I walk in that building,
I go to that hallway and I kick that stupid vent,
And I always will.
So darling, if you're planning on forcing me...
Good luck.

Beautiful
Peaceful
Quiet.
They build vacation spots
And towns
Around me.
"Its inactive
It'll be fine".
Mysterious
In the way
That things are building up.
They visit me
And hold their breath
In awe.
And when I erupt
They run
As if they had no clue it would happen.
When I finally do
What I am meant to do,
They blame me
Call me a disaster and hide
As if they didn't know
That lava was inside.

If happiness is a choice
Then why aren't I choosing it?
If happiness is a choice
Then why do I keep losing it?
If I can pick laughter
Over the tears and the pain
Then why do I sit here
As they fall like rain?
If I could be lightning
Then why am I darkness?
If I could make myself begin,
Something other than chagrin,
Don't you think I would have started it?

I've never liked the expression
'Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words will never hurt me."
I think it undermines the power of words
It's undeniable that words have an impact on people
Letters strung together can sting a person's soul
When they are spoken with a tongue used like a whip
Words evoke passion,
They inspire us,
Make our blood boil,
Horrify us,
And yes, they can hurt us
To say that words can't hurt,
Is to demean all that words do
Look at Marat,
Martin Luther,
Shakespeare,
Darwin,
Hobbes,
Freud,
Orwell,
Paine
And tell me words can't change the world
Words are what I turn to when I have nothing left
I'd rather my bones break,
That would be much better,
Than to lose my dignity,
To have a record of voices
Tell me I'm useless,
I'm stupid,
I'm fat,
I'm never good enough
Always on repeat,
Always on my mind,
Always ringing true
Maybe I'm over analytical
Maybe I care too much
About things said in the past
But here's to all the "I love you's"
All the "I hate you's"
To saying "I don't give a ****"
The pen is indeed mightier than the sword
Because your words
Are what made me turn the blade
On myself

When I'm with you, I understand
When you hug me, I have no doubt
I know you mean it when you hold my hand

But when I'm alone and self loathing takes over
And I think about all my insecurities
When I analyze myself in the mirror
I don't understand why you love me

I love you
And when I say that
I mean that I will always forgive you,
And that I will always see the best in you
And that I can never stand to be angry at you.
I love you,
And I will prove it every day
Whether or not you even notice.
I love you
In a way that scares me
And should scare you too
Because if I had the power to destroy the world for your sake
I might just do it
And have no regrets,
And all that said, I want you to know
That when I say I love you
The faith in my words comes from a place of knowledge,
Not foolishness,
From a place that has been ransacked and raided and razed,
From a city that has been burnt and rebuilt so many times that
The ash in the soil could grow a forest in a day.
This love comes from a wise place,
Not a naive one.
And yeah,
It's still here.

My friends.
They used to help me
Expand my imagination
explore new worlds
maybe learn something on the way.

But now my friends are a crutch
They help pull me away from this broken world
instead of taking in a new imagination
I sprint through the different worlds
hungry for more, more, more
My friends keep feeding me release
and I keep needing more

More and more places to run to
worlds that can me only mine for a short time

Places to escape to

Anywhere is fine

Anywhere but here