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.

I'm not simple.

I am January - cold and grey and ugly.
I am February - short and dark and gloomy.
I am March - fierce and complicated and bipolar.
I am April - warm and sweet and full of colour.
I am May - sunny and blooming and frenzied.
I am June - the scent of summer and hope and the feeling of freedom.
I am July - the burning sun and the sand beneath your toes and the sun in your hair.
I am August - the sea waves crushing against you and the lazy shade underneath a tree and the grass tickling your feet.
I am September - pouring rain and gales and the fog creeping in.
I am October - red and brown and orange, the crunching of dry leaves and that the darkness that's falling.
I am November - distant and lonely and drowning.
I am December - the frost on the windows and the gentle snowflakes, and the dunes of snow, and the freezing coldness, I am December - decaying.

I am not simple. A little complicated, messy.
Can you take me?

Before the wings and spring of words,
Were cradle-held in a cloud of sleep,
Soft footfalls to hear ourselves turning
And ever new dreams were lofty keys,

We could not see the frost branching
And winter never was, nor winds cold,
In our temple eyes, the sun crowning
Imbued visions, fine as woven gold,

Draped in silks so rare, spun spinning,
To hear the birds sing in ears blossom,
For the very first time, true beginnings
And the flower's colour never forgotten,

All is mourning now— song, sings singer,
To morn, wake, dream, dreams dreamer.

She’s the kind of beautiful that made
Narcissus self-conscious in the first place

She captures the world on film
I capture her on my memory
I wouldn’t mind if I used
all the film I had on her

Her smile tells you it’s OK
To be yourself
Because we all doubt ourselves
Undeservedly

Walking in the night with her is
The most illuminating experience
I’ve never had my own sun
To revolve around

Being her reason to laugh makes me consider
Betrayal to the beauty of silence