Home is a memory
I carry
Like one would, a dress
Or a tattoo
Neatly tucked in or engraved
In the shelves of our minds
Or the folds of our skin.

Home is a 'now',
An uncomfortable alone-ness,
A comfortable alone-ness,
where
I retire in,
I clean up,
I hurl things around,
I stay unadorned,
Wild
And true.

Home is what 
I cry for
And cry in.

Home is
A smile
A look
A touch
A dream
A scream.

Home is
Me.

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