I hope that this year is better than the first 3 days.
haha.
ha.
haaaa.

I yearn for the day
when I can be

free

What is a home?
Where is a home?
What defines a home?
When does a place stop being just a place?

Is it the place with the most friends?
The place with my family?
The place I was raised in?
The place I spend most of my time?
The place I love the most?
Or is the intersection of all these, and more?

Because if that's true
I'm afraid I don't have a home
and therefore homeless,
yet I can't stand that label
because it means I have no place
in this world

The tea
might have steeped
for too long

I stand up
and it goes black.

How can life
be absolutely everything,
yet white nothingness?

I woke up and my eyes are faucets.
A warm salty faucet.
An everflowing constant stream.

So I filled up my coffee ***
with my brand new faucet.
Sat on the couch and the sink was still running.

Through watery eyes I looked out the window.
A foggy morning.
A thick fog surrounding everything.

It was fitting
My life seems like one big fog
I'm just waiting for it to clear
And the faucet to turn off.

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.