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
Fear of potential loss is a terrible reason to stay in the wrong place
Sad, but true: Neither Ron Paul nor any libertarian has chance to win
U.S. gives $529 million to build car with worse gas mileage than SUV
With bumbling federal response, terrorist attack achieved objectives
Eviction leaves me sifting through collateral damage of a broken life
Without meaning, most are blind to rot destroying their own lives