I’ve always been searching for a home, A special place where I feel safe. A place for me to be alone Without worries or cares to embrace. I’m usually alone when and where you find me; Sometimes curled up with a book. The things I read will set me free- You’ll believe me if you look. Sometimes, if you’re lucky enough, I might share something that I’m writing. On the outside I might seem quite tough. That might be true- though I’m still fighting. I love letting go when I sit down To let the words start flowing freely. Maybe I feel like I might drown, Silently begging you won’t leave me. I know that I’ve lost quite a lot In the short years I’ve been alive, Though I’m still grateful for all I’ve got, I’d advise you to not dive inside my mind. It’s cold and dark and twisted And I try to be the opposite. No matter what my peers insisted, The dark abyss still seems infinite. I don’t want to be alone at all, Only my writing for a friend. My mind and soul my poetry will inthrall And so I beg for my pain to end. I think of all I live without And how my hope still dies. A home? Will I get it? Doubt. So, for now, home is where the poetry lies.