I'm Coming Home

Home, the place in which one's domestic affections have centered, is the center of our joys.

A place that holds warmth from the winter, a taste of sweetness when life is bitter.

The residence we rest in when our liveliness seems to wither.

Home, the blanket that gives security in a place that brings peace and shelters purity.

Sheltered from the storm; a calm that cleans up and pacifies our impurities.

Cuts get bandaged here; wounds heal here, scars become permanent here, and bruises disappear, right here.

Family over everything if a neighbor brings trouble near.

Grandma's home is near and dear; it's where we study and master the stillness of our spirit.

It's where we become our grandmother's very own "Little Red Riding Hood."; and the "Big Bad Wolf" better not come near it.

Well, that is what home should be.

But home could be very different for you and me.

You can differentiate the differences between our lives from our life's histories.

Our homes are what creates the difference between you, her, him, and me.

Can you differentiate the difference between our homes from the home of my black history?

The dynamics of our homes and communities are different; at times it is made clear.

If I take a walk in your community, I am told that I don't belong there.

If you take a stroll through where I'm from, you instantly feel you don't belong there.

I completely understand; that doesn't make me hate you; that would be weird.

Isn't it weird for hate to live where the heart lies?; hate doesn't have a home over here.

Isn't it so soulfully satisfying, how we can become a home to and for ourselves?

...how your body is a temple and a sanctuary to yourself?

How do our minds become the space for a therapist's office when we feel we can't talk to anybody else?

Say it out loud, " I am home to myself, for myself, all for myself!"

Doesn't that make your heart melt?

But for some reason or another, makes your heart cold?

It's getting cold. It was nice talking to you; I'm going home.

"... I'm coming home, I'm coming home, tell the world I'm coming home..."

"...Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday..."

"...I know my kingdom awaits..."

"...And they've forgiven my mistakes..."

Chugga chugga, Chugga chugga.; I'm on my way home.

I turn the music up in my headphones then the speakers are blown.

I sit up in my seat, look around, and wonder where the passengers are traveling this winter.

In their eyes, I see that home is where the heart is, but sometimes the warm heart can be as cold as December.

The music is gone, homely thoughts are all that I hear in my mind.

Home, the place in which one's domestic affections have centered.

I hope to see love on my loved one's face when I enter.

The music is gone, homely thoughts are what I hear in my mind

My attitude is a little different towards things now; it will all work out this time.