Not my home

I sit here staring at a computer screen;

this world is not my home. 

Traffic flows past my window;

this world is not my home. 

I flip over to read the headlines: body shaming, violence, natural disasters; 

this world is not my home. 

There’s an emptiness inside me that burns;

this world is not my home. 

Pour water on that fire. Yet the embers smolder. 

Get over yourself, build a home. 

At times, I feel like an unwelcome guest. A pest.

How many times have I tried to make this world my home?

Do this! Don’t do that! Don’t be a brat. You’re making this harder than it needs to be. 

You are home. 

If you would just ——,

this would be the perfect home. 

Make yourself fit into this delicate box.

See! You fit! Eureka! You’re home. 

How many times have I tried;

to make this world my home?

There’s a yearning. Wheels turning. A deep need, to find a place where I belong.

Yet, this world is not my home. 

The stars. The moon. The vast beyond, beckon me; to a great unknown,

that might be my home?

A heavenly place. A sacred space.

My forever home?