I don’t belong—
not here,
not there.
Not by face,
nor by tongue,
not by attitude,
or flair.

Not by the way I think,
not by the way I feel.
I moved too much—
the roots never sank,
just grazed the soil
then peeled.

My home isn’t home,
and where I am
isn’t, either.
So I’ve cut the threads
to here,
to there,
and even
to where I’ll finally rest.

I will not beg for place.
Instead,
I will cradle myself
in silence,
in softness—
and comfort myself
into a  still.