Finding Home

We arrive here with amnesia, no recollection of where we're from. We're given a few things in a short time, some words, some shoes to walk in, perhaps, a mixture of truth watered down by a walloping of cheap, bottom shelf lies, and finally, we're given the boot and told to be on our way. Figure it out. Grow up. Get a job. Get a life. What are you standing around for? Are you some kind of bun? Gonna cry about it? Look around. *NOBODY* gives a fuck. It's at this point that some of us lose heart, fall out of the nest, a one-way ticket to the dirt, vocation: forgotten dust. But if you're lucky, you remember the taste of lies, realize the flavor of bullshit being shovelled in your ears, puff up your chest and lift your head. This is good, for a time. you'll go far this way, barrelling through without a care like an avalanche. you might start to tell yourself that we live in a loveless world, that you'll love least of all, that you're just fine making your home, alone, on the road. The air is bitter as it comes in and even bitterer as it goes out with your venomous words...but if you're even more fortunate, you will realize that this is but a stage, an even bigger box, and I hope that before they stuff you in the final one, that you will let it all go. This is finding home.