Homecoming: An Automatic Poem By My Self-Conscious

What does home mean to me? What does it symbolize? Is it a want of belonging? Or a fear of exclusion? Is it something that morphs over the years, or is it forever a constant etched into our hearts?

What is home to me? Is it the evergreen pines of my childhood that encompassed our backyard like a fortress of wilderness imagination? I remember candlelit nights at twilight after a hard day of emotional toil, and knowing that home was the place with the soft glow where I could heal my wounds. Love, the necessary ingredient for any home to truly be a home.

As I grow older, home stops being a place and becomes beautiful memories and the people in my life. It is the cultivated safe haven where I can hide from the world's torment while I recharge and prepare to enter the world again.

Home is where time can feel most like an illusion, as the beauty of home is in the now. Is in the comfort of being and the love of those I love.

Home is a place I try to carry with me, so that when I see a fellow human being in despair, I am reminded that we all share this planet home together. To extend a smile to a stranger who is looking for acknowledgement and kindness. To question if our actions align with the fact that we in our individuality, are not alone on this planet.

Home grows and grows as I grow older. My heart becomes bigger, and the weight of the world can feel heavier. But this is still home. A home I will fight for, and a home made for love.

Home is peace, relief, and serenity. Home is what I wish for every human. To have that feeling of belonging, warmth, tranquility, happiness, and hope.

Home can be viewed as just a shelter. But it is so much more than that. The feeling of home can change the world. And I hope it does.