Despite all my efforts
to convince myself that “home”
was simply brick and cement,
Its skeletal frame covered by walls
with photos documenting years passed,
I thought myself the wandering type.
A nomadic gypsy
with beliefs in the saying that “home is where the heart is.”
Leaving bits of myself wherever my feet landed
and letting the wind carry me to my next destination.
A good number of years
have gone by.
I am no longer a child of the world.
I am simply searching for that certain place to plant roots,
to call some place “home”