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Lacey Clark Aug 2016
This question will be the death of me.
It's not quite where we came from last,
nor where we pay taxes.
It's not where we want to be,
or the house we grew up in, or the nostalgia we feel in some cities.
It's not where our origins trace back to,
where our ancestors developed our roots,
in fact, I'd argue
home is not an external location.
It's not the soft grass in our front yards,
it's not the countryside or cityscape,
it's not the creaky wooden floors that collected dust on our socks,
Home is a feeling.
It nests within us during our travels while we're looking for it,
it is present when we rest our head
against a sunny window in the car.
Home is in friendships where laughing makes you cry
and crying makes you laugh,
it is in fleeting romances, holding hands,
the smell of you on my pillow,
it is with certain family members.
I find home in familiar smells and easy living,
it is in solitude and fresh air.
What a feeling of comfort,
where we can grab those fleeting moments,
and stitch them together like a grandiose stained glass window in a cathedral.
Home is a compilation of every place we have ever been,
are going to go, and where we are at presently.
What makes you feel at home?
Lacey Clark Jul 2016
There was a feeling by the name Romance,
who asked if I would like to dance,
but clumsy I
could not comply,
my legs fell off by pure mischance.
Wrote a limerick on romantic struggles.
Lacey Clark Jul 2016
We figure it all out then what do we do with it?
Carry it in our pockets waiting to find others who also have it.
We do not own this, nor does anyone lack it.
Everyone has their own sense of it.
You can find this in the broken,
And resting within the successful
It lays on streets of a busy city,
in the golden meadows
in our own reflection.
In the stillness,
in the silence,
in the chaos,
in the noise.
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