I fluctuate between rage and rage subdued
In this place, true contentment is but a fleeting fever dream
Yet, here I am, stuck in this very place I call home
Why do I even call it that?
I mean, really – why do we use that beloved name so carelessly?
You say you are going home, when in reality,
you are merely returning to a property that houses your belongings
Maybe I am guilty of doing this.
I must admit, sometimes, it feels like
my belongings are more at home than I am
I suppose that is why they are called belongings
And me? Am I belonging here?
I don’t know how to answer that, but if not here,
then where?
