What does it mean to be home?
Is it simply a place, where you don't feel alone?
A good home is not determined by what hangs on the wall.
The family portraits don't matter at all.
They don't matter, if the smile is fake.
They don't matter when you're made to feel like a mistake.
The expensive furniture that lines the wall,
Takes away the comfort, and makes you feel small.
Like something that doesn't belong in this new world created.
They are becoming the people you've always hated.
You lie and lie to make it ok.
You ask yourself constantly why they threw it all away.
They ran away to the shiny new life.
When the one they had was twice as nice.
I was pulled along for the ride.
Lucky for me, I never got to decide.
They could never replace what we did or didn't have.
Our house is not a home, they made sure of that.
The pictures that hang on the wall.
They don't tell the right story, not at all.
The look on my face at dinner that night, is the more accurate of these two sights.
Because when the day is done, what is home?
It is certainly not the place where you feel most alone.