A picturesque sky hidden
behind apartments and trees.
Remind me of home,
the proverbial one I was born in
and seen twice.

Blue skies
as if painted onto a canvas
with puffy cotton ***** for clouds.
Cut up by the bland browns and reds
covering the buildings separated by soft hues
of greens and browns.
Ironically making
a skyline.

They say that with time it gets easier.
But it never did.
We just get used to the pain.
Like we get used to the smells of our house,
and only recognize the smell after
we have gone away.
I have gotten used to missing you.
So much that one day I fear I will
not miss you at all.
You are the smell of my house,
and I am not home.

The sun grew dark, the sky grew black,
I looked away; when I looked back
The rain was falling in sheets, so fine,
I thought I'd finally come back.

The air was heavy like before
I felt that longing even more
I tasted sea salt on my face
Standing on my landlocked shore.

It all came back to me, right there
Spray in my eyes, wind in my hair
It all returned to tantalize
As if those rain clouds didn't care.

They say home is where the heart is
I think they're right
But they don't tell you
that you don't just feel the hole it leaves
When you're alone at night
Home is not a hole that can be filled easily
And the constant little reminders really get to me
Like looking at the hills
Where mountains ought to be
I left my heart in Colorado
With my friends and family
There I had my first kiss
And I learned how to read
Learned to ride a bike
And how to climb a tree
A lifetime of memories
Eight hundred miles away
I guess you can say
I'm feeling  a bit homesick today.

when we were young,
everything was bathed in sunlight;
we loved and we fought,
we thought we would live, strong,
forever.

summers spent on the shoreline,
waves lapping at our feet--
we'd walk the pier in the evenings,
jumping from rock to rock,
spiders being the tenants between the spaces.

and then we grew,
wild and reckless--
nights spent on drugs and ***,
nights spent on choices made and regretted,
nights spent on violence and self-destruction.

our town darkened like the bags beneath our eyes.
the water doesn't shimmer in the light like it used to,
the stars don't shine like they used to.
the lights in the buildings flickered out,
windows boarded.
we don't go out at night like we used to.

we're all waiting to escape before we become
the next teenage suicide,
the next dearly-departed and gone-too-young.

we were all beaten and battered,
breaking each other's hearts,
begging for an out,
only to end up homesick
for a place we always hated.

the lakeshore was all we knew.

Home is where the heart is.

Home is where Taiwanese people
Hock their wares at the top of their lungs
As you're pressed on every side
By the crush of people filling the lanes
Of the night market.

Home is where crazy San Franciscians
Roam the hills in shorts with jackets in hand
In case the fickle Weather changes his mind
Or they wander too far west
Into the land of perpetual fog and mist.

Home is wherever you are.
Or at least that's what home used to be.
But since you've gone away,
My heart is a thousand pieces.

Home needs a whole heart.
And mine isn't anymore.
So every day I'm homesick
For a place that will never be.

Home is now just in my memories.

Wouldnt it be nice
to have a reallity
where all the people
close to my heart
would be close to my body?

I wouldnt have to choose
a country becaouse
each one I'd lived in
has a significant part of my heart

I imagine it would be nice
feeling at home
and not always feeling like
there is a piece missing out.

Becaouse right now, I feel homesick even at home.

The next time you go home,
don't let your palm linger on the doorknob on your way out.
Just throw out the old toothbrush she hasn't come to use in months
and take down the painting above your bed
coated in colors that reminded her of *****, grass-stained knees and dandelion bracelets;
and don't pretend that homesick
is something you could ever feel without her shoes at the door.