Home is singular and collective
Our four walls, our planet
Building one within the other
A grounding point
Somewhere to return to.
Home is taken for granted
By those draped in comfort
Never missing a meal
No heating on a stopwatch
Objects left untouched.
Home is something we create
An instinctual practice
The nest
A place of belonging
Less alone
Cultivating love.
Home is safety
A security worth dying for
Through treacherous oceans
Running for borders
Your crying children
In the back of crowded vans.
Home is small but infinite
My one bedroom flat
My expansive consciousness
The houseplant that keeps dying
The place I grew.
About the Creator
Jo Carson
Queer artist/writer from the U.K. 🏳️🌈
Insta - @welikebirdland
The Hour Long Minute
I’m finally off of work from my overnight shift and now comes the hard part. I do Ride-share driving for about two or three hours after I get off of work each morning, not only to make ends meet, but to put away a little extra money for my rapidly approaching wedding.
By Earl W. Pearl3 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.