I don’t know how to get home. I’m not sure I’ve ever been there.
I’m not from this place. Not really. Yes, I was born here. On this planet, in this state, not far from where I sit. But I look around and know with certainty these are not my people. I don’t really understand them and they don’t understand me. We might as well be from different planets.
I’ve been looking for home since I was a small child. We didn’t stay any place for very long. From the beginning, it was a painful blur.
Birmingham, Washington, Atlanta, Knoxville, Meridian, Anniston, Oak Grove, Pensacola, Jasper.
It was a long line of new places, new people, new situations. I had a mother, then I didn’t. I had stability, then I didn’t. I craved love and attention and approval, but being perfect was the only way I knew to pursue them. And I wasn’t perfect.
I’ve longed for something all my life. I didn’t know what to call it. I’ve longed to find my home.

We’re neither friends nor enemies, just strangers who share the past
When love finally dies, it’s like a fever breaks and the pain is gone
Economic Man needs no heart, because love and God are dead
As nightmares plague my friends, I’m grateful mine have subsided
In other news, donations keep pouring in to feed the monkeys
Slow culture changes might mean skin color matters less in future
Changes are destroying culture, but we can build beautiful dream
Appeals to ‘common sense’ are frequently excuses to avoid thinking