HOME

Home.
What is home?
Mot your half baked essay
On a crumpled piece of paper.
Or your little black dress
That you don for validation.
Home is an emotion
A shrine enshrined in your sun-kissed spirit.
Where you are a part of a pack
And not a lone wolf.
Sauntering and rambling over the
viridescent meadows
Prowling and surviving through the dissolution.

What is home?
Where you feel adored
By chums and kin alike
Without any shroud of bias,
Or cloak of unfairness
That people usually sport
Without any shame or guilt
Home is where life feels like a fleeting
moment of gratification, of comfort, of wholeness
Unike the desolate human that lies outside
Where everything and everyone is mere
scavengers
Opportunistic and barbarous
Like hyenas and vultures
What is home?
Your adobe?
Your truth?
Your salvation?
Or perhaps something else.