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A House is Not The Same As a Home
I hold my heart in my hands
Everywhere I go
But I try not to show it
As I attempt to hold it behind my back
Attempting to shield it
From the damage of myself and others
As I leave the scent of my house behind me
Whether it is the bacon grease
Or the fresh fruit
Or the box of Cheerios in the pantry
I leave the scent of my house
To return home.
I pick up my heavy heart
And leave the chaos
to find the order
The cleanliness of the vent air freshener gives signs of life and light
Filling the car with blankets, and pillows, and a fireplace
The little space of the front seat
Is me curled up on a cloud with everything I could ever need
The comfort of support, of warmth, of life
The environment
Of being alone but not lonely
The feeling of being set free
Like a bird that realized it had wings behind its head
Like I just won a big award
And the trophy is simply just the feeling I get to experience
The ability to feel whatever I can and whatever I want
In my own little home
The home I can guide to the people I want in my life
The home I can guide to the places I truly want to be
The home where I can lay my heart out in the passenger seat
To really breath
4 seconds in
4 second hold
4 seconds out
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I wrote this piece to show that the idea of a home is not always a house, a singular place, or somewhere with family and friends. A home is wherever you want it to be. It is wherever you can feel whatever you need to feel, be wherever you want to be, and where you are the most comfortable and safe. For me, my favorite place, or my home, is my car. I wrote this in hopes it could show people that home is not only one thing and could mean something different for everyone.