there is a place that i can call home.
it's cold and broken but it is home.
i find comfort in the trees and cracked paint.
in the cloudless skies and muggy summer nights.
the harsh season changes and fast blowing breezes.
sometimes i beg to leave and start anew.
sometimes i dream of the day i can escape.
i know that it holds my family and my friends.
i may run but i will never truly let go.
i will always come back to empty suburban towns.
where children play all night and parents count their blessings.
teenagers are drunk and trying to find themselves.
it's a right of passage to run away.
when we get lost we come running back.
being reckless just isn't enough.
our home is calm and safe.
at times unexciting and mundane.
but it is home; it always will be.