Are you home?
Do you wonder,
if you will ever be home?
I do,
all of the time.
Maybe you are already there,
and never have to question,
if that is where you belong.
I imagine, you may just know.
I envy those of you,
who seem to recognize
where you should be;
you make it look so easy.
How did you do it?
What does one do,
to find a place
where you are welcomed
day or night?
I look at the pictures,
of your husbands and wives,
and smiling children;
it all seems so ideal.
Was it that you met someone just like you?
Or were they just enough like you,
that your differences
did not matter?
Is that the secret?
From the outside looking in,
you appear to fit so perfectly well
with each other;
it must be nice.
Is it me?
It is easy to see
that I am not like you,
though I wish I were,
but we know that I am not.
If I unpack,
hang up the curtains,
and put on a pot of tea,
will this house become home?
Will I then belong here?
Somehow,
I do not think
it is that easy,
though you certainly
make it seem attainable.
I do want to find a home,
but I cannot search for it now.
The car is packed,
and the road welcomes me.
~ Cristina Jill Mosqueda ~
