Homesick

My moon,

when was the last time you felt at home?

When was the last time you didn’t feel alone?

My mind is unreachable,

and my heart never fits.

My soul is detachable,

so happiness is retractable.

The wheel always spins,

but regrets and sins

keep it bottom-heavy.

I can’t keep it steady.

I was ten,

it was then

with them;

those who can’t speak,

belittle and repeat

their disdain and disgust,

their hatred and distrust

for my flawed existence.

But home is a faded memory,

a lovesick dream.

I only remember it in stories

through music, it seems.

Foundation that’s weak

is bound to fracture.

The love that I seek

is impossible to capture.

So I’ll look at the moon

and dream of never.

It can never get worse,

and it’ll never be better.

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