home is not a place

it is the people you surround yourself with

& even though i know that,

even though i can feel the dawn that breaks onto my skin-

something inside me wants to belong to

something.

doesn't matter what

doesn't matter if it's a red dirt town made of slow rising sun

or a city that can pass you by in a blur if you're not careful

a city that has headaches from lack of sleep.

i want to tell people that i am from something solid,

something made of iron & steel

& concrete,

with windows & doors 

& streets that just don't know when to stop.

something with a heart that beats strong under all the potholes & well worn roads,

something that throws gravel in your eyes but

still loves you.

something that sends down rain & thunder like a curse

& then takes it all back with sweet 

summers that taste like

freedom & honey & blue sky.

a place that holds on to its promises like it holds on to its people-

that tries to be enough. 

something that puts you in the arms of 24 hour diners when it's

2 AM & you can't sleep-

that lets you wander without ever being lost.

home is not a place

it is the people you surround yourself with

but i want something to come back to when all

the people have gone.