(Originally published on Medium, 7/14/2019)
We are pilgrims from a small world.
We’re afraid of our mothers, our lovers, and each other.
Afraid of car-washes, laundromats, and drive-thru’s.
We are scared of dying, but terrified of living.
We can watch the blood drip from our wrists
but flinch when we are kissed.
No place feels like home.
We are pilgrims from a small world.
Afraid of belonging anywhere, yet afraid of being alone.
Scared of our own voices, our very shadows, and
the faces in the mirror.
No place feels like home.
We are pilgrims from a small world.
If it came to saving ourselves or a stranger, we’d offer our life
without a thought.
No place feels like home.
We are pilgrims from a small world.
Afraid to love and terrified of being loved.
No place feels like home.
No place feels like home.
No place feels like home.
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