Let's be honest, things have been screwed up for a long time.
The wounds I have cut beyond the bone, and heal oh so slowly.
I want so bad to find a place where I feel like I belong,
but I'm starting to realize that I've already been there.
The place I've felt like myself, like I could find my home, was always with you.
You feel like home. Like the blue stucco walls and dried out tree steps I grew up with;
like the comfort I found in microwaving my own food or doing my own laundry because my mom wasn't around.
You feel like home. Like the smell of the grass I used to cut, or the feeling of the worn blue couch I spend so many nights of my life waiting for you on.
Someday I'll have another home, but I'll always remember the way you brought me back to where I've been trying to get all along.