I don’t know where home is anymore
No cherry blossom trees
Or familiarity,
But a roof over my head
And a fold-out bed.
I’m not the same me
That I was at seventeen,
Scars and the sea
Kept her from me.
I never built any bridges
Just a rope ladder with frayed edges,
So my hands may be splintered
But I’ll make it back for winter.
See I don’t know enough of life,
To try and make this right.
Because this family, in reality,
Might be strangers to me.
And I don’t have the strength
To break again.
I don’t know where home is anymore.

There comes that moment of sudden awareness
When you raise your head and see the bigger picture
See the links between everything in your life
And make the connection that makes the most sense to you

My connection will be different to yours
Some will see undeniable proof that the Earth is flat.
Others will see a plan of salvation lay out for them.

It does not matter about absolute Truths.
Chasing such is absurd
Because if no one can see it
Nor perceive it
Then does it really exist?
All people see are their own truths instead
Ascribing meaning to the Chaos

That's the 'real connection between us all
The interconnectness of all things lay in the connections we all make
We are all bending reality ever so slightly to fit the narrative we have crafted for ourselves
Telling ourselves stories to make sense of everything - and we all have stories

I will not seek solutions by a judicious study of the discernable reality, looking for The Truth.
I will act and create my own reality
Until eventually, everything connects.

The first kiss was nice.
I was suddenly reminded of all the fun we had.
I felt my heart swell with old memories
Of dancing in your room at night
Or laying in the afternoon sun.
The time I melted into you
And you said you loved me.

That first kiss was nice.

Then you kissed me again.
I recalled how it ended.
The hurt and pain of the separation.
The feeling of not being want,
Of not being good enough.
My heart shriveled up as it remembered the heartache.

The second kiss was not nice.

I have only ever kept two cards in my lifetime.
Both I treasure.
One of which my brother called me his brother for the first time.
It only took 29 years.
The other, you addressed me as ''darling'' inside.
You can see how much you mean to me.
The closest I have ever got to the real thing.

I'll get the last train home
I do not wish to outstay my welcome
I really don't mind - I actually like it
Can you like sad and lonely times?
There's an odd feeling when overhearing friends talk
It forms the static beneath my thoughts
As I hold on tight to this solitude
And try to like it as much as it likes me

For that restless wanderer there is no common ground

On Sundays - when family rest and friends play - he has no where to go.

He hath ears and hears all
That is more painful than mere sight alone
Conversations that he will never partake in again

Through this suffering may wisdom come
Or else eternal punshiment for the restless wanderer

after a few mouthfuls,
masks are grown from harsh liquids,
they soften our muscles,
ease our aches,
lead us to believe that strangers are soul mates,
lets dance,
while we all embrace our artificially composed friends.