Home is a Place to Me

There are many houses, ones I’ve lived in

Many places where I laid my head,

but there are no memories of these places.

Instead they emulsify, and have been lost,

in a great mass of a bad childhood,

with bland details and forgettable names.

That place you call home is only so...

because your brick and wooden houses, are home

to you...to me it’s another place.

A new one, again.

A place without carvings in a doorframe,

one with no holiday cheer of many years.

There is no attachment

and it has no hold over me, these places...

that you call home.