Home is Where Real Life Happens

Home is the place where you live

Your heart, your soul, your head

Or at least, that is what I was told

Before I knew that all places could be sold

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At first it was redwoods, lilting in the wind

Then it was dark beaches, fires burning bright

Later, city skylines, geometric and glowing

Now thick forests of maple, lightning bugs showing

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Foreign words and unknown sounds

As comfortable as nursery rhymes heard at least a hundred times

Strangers in the kitchen, unknown beds

Families like patchwork made of loose threads

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I once thought that home was a single place

Now I see that it shifts and moves, new colors and shapes

You say it is the place where real life happens

Mark it in blood, a story told in human captions