Sunday, November 27, 2011

Home, or back from home? All just houses.

I found myself, upon my return from the holidays, struck by the fact that places I once called homes are now merely houses. Home has changed from this singular place with walls and a roof to a more encompassing feeling of being "home." When I am celebrating the holidays with family and taking a vacation from school, I am home. When I am tired of all of the bustle of suburban Maryland and I return to my Nashville apartment, I am home. I am home when I feel as though I am home. I don't understand it, but it won't settle down, it won't choose. 

This led me back to something I've always been so focused on, growing up. Sometimes I want it and I cherish it, and sometimes I run like hell from it. But I'm always thinking about it in terms of new discoveries I make, this "home" thing notwithstanding. 

This blog is meant to be creative, but I've been treating it more as a non-fiction journal. I think the holidays are doing that to me. Anyway, here is a piece of creativity, may there be more to come.

This whole growing up thing,
It doesn't work for me.

I miss being taken care of,
            Paid for,
                                    And housed.

Now they say I must make my own home,
            Drive myself,
                        Make my own money,
                                    Take care of things.

Now when I return to this house,
I cannot call it my home,
Nor can I call it theirs.

It is just a house where I once lived,
As are all of the houses where I once lived.

No, this whole growing part,
It is not for me.

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