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
Atlanta police arrest wrong Teresa, but keep her locked up for 53 days
Google’s geeks offer future vision that leads toward inhuman world
Finding joy brings more happiness than the empty pursuit of pleasure
Years later, my heart still fears hearing, ‘Who moved my belt?!’
‘Conservative’ GOP governors forget principles when their state involved
Will I run for office? The short answer is ‘no’; the longer answer is ‘no way’