Home is my mama.
The way she climbed in my bed after she found out he hurt me,
the way she wiped my tears when another used me,
and the way she held me when the one I trusted most cheated on me.
Home is my family.
The way they battled my illness with me,
the way all of them stood by me,
and the way they supported me in any way possible.
Home is love.
Where I was taught the highs and lows of truly being entangled with someone.
Home is cornfields.
Where I ran around to escape,
and found comfort in writing.
Where I spent many nights laying down,
thinking and reflecting.
Home is my back porch,
Where I snuck off to see him and experienced my funnest memories.
Home is him.
The one who hurt me,
yet gave me the most love out of anyone and taught me to love myself.
Home is my bed.
Where I spent many nights crying into my pillow as I learned life’s hardest lessons.
Home is my heart.
Broken yet still working.
Home is my soul.
Strong but still searching.
Why was it taken away from me?