“I have lived too long in foreign parts.”
I have become foreign to myself, made up of bits and pieces like a Frankenstein turned inside out. The scars are there, only they are on the inside where no one can see them.
Nor can anyone see me. Or rather they do see me, but only recognize the parts that are familiar to them. But seeing half of me is seeing nothing at all.
Blessed are those who, like my sister, have lived on the same street their whole life. Maggie is sure of herself, she has never questioned her marriage, her religion, her culture or her taste.
I question everything. Some people say my personality changes with my language. In Germany, a few who can judge, say they see a German Robbie and an American Robbie. But still, they have never seen the Chinese or the Paraguayan Robbie.
Some days, I just want to go home – if I could find it.
For “I have lived too long in foreign parts.” (Henry James, Daisy Miller)
Robbie, I enjoyed this so much. The places we go can become part of who we are.
Robbie,
I love the voice and frank imagery in this poem. The line espcially spoke to me:
But seeing half of me is seeing nothing at all
My heart is full. Thank you!
I loved this, especially the last line. It really makes you ponder what home means. Great job!
This is deep Robbie West
Good effort and non challenging but emotional read
So many feel this way. Well done.