Version 1:

My heart has never had a home,  

Feeling lost on this planet as if 

This body was invited too late in history to 

Dance with this soul.  

My heart has always awakened to the  

Hollow echoes of longing to be  

Somewhere else entirely,  

Somewhere on an island of purposeful isolation 

Where I choose my own existence,  

Never needing to rely on anything but the tides to keep me afloat.  

My heart has never understood how to break away 

From a practical reality where nothing ever goes right 

And follow its whispering cries that life transcends 

Everything that is even remotely known to us.   

My heart has never felt safe, always questioning  

The cryptic miracle of existence as if understanding it 

Would make it any less of an absurd phenomenon.  

 

My heart has always been afraid 

That it will forever feel out of place, 

Blind to the idea that someone or something    

Could feel more like home than home does.     

That music traveling through shivers down my skin 

Keeps me more grounded than my own thoughts ever could.  

Each page of a book invites me into hundreds of dwellings 

Where I will always be taken in,  

As if I have never left.  

Poetry makes me fall in love with fantasies that  

Will one day become mine.  

Traveling the world leaves crumbs of my soul  

In every city I have ever been a part of,  

Welding me into the landscape of everywhere,  

Making my home a part of everything;  

The stars and grass and air and that which is in between 

Becoming me, where my own skin has become my home.  

And love becomes myself.  

 

Version 2:

What is love, if not an experiment

Released by the government to test

Our patience?