If you happen to find me,

I’ll be crocheted in a blanket of red, white, and yellow,

Woven in a basket of wicker,

Amidst a pile of elephant figurines,

That’s where you may find me.

Scavenging through the things of the past,

Looking for the things that made shit last,

Made it surpass all the aftermath of eviction notices.

A soul under siege,

Sold to a storage locker,

Floating the seven seas in bits and pieces,

Wearing the world on her faces in wrinkles and creases.

Suffering can be a beautiful things,

What strength circumstance brings,

Beauty: a thing called courage: a renaissance,

Basking in the museum of memories,

Reminiscing trinkets and treasures sold to the highest bidder,

Home is where the heart finds it fit to survive such loss:

At all of the greatest costs.

Home: a no man’s land to me,

Where roots have no foundation,

And the foundation is made up of broken dreams.

You may find me, you may lose me all the same,

The price of home: an expensive, unattainable gain.