I lay my head down on this matress that makes my bones tremble and ache. I look around the room , these walls so familiar , this place where my very first seeds of thoughts were planted but now have grown and outgrown this place that used to be home. I stare at the ceiling , hearing my Dad and his friend whisper and converse at 4am in the morning when my aching body wishes my mind could go to sleep. I think about the day's events , I think about the place I live at now to get to school and wonder if perhaps that could be a place I can lay my heart to rest. But it's not , it could never be with all of those closed minded people , uneducated and prejudice gossiping and snickering at young children's drama and problems as if they're not the one's meeting up every Wednesday to discuss everything but themselves and their husbands probably whoring around whilst their wives sit and chat obliviously about a pregnant teen right down the street. What is a home to me? Is it the humans I use as medicine , projecting my trauma onto their unhealthy minds. Is it my family , clueless to my dreams and my hopes , clueless to the peace I want? I don't think so. I haven't found home yet , but when I do I hope it's sprawled out on a beach , reading books and poetry that make my heart pour out gallons of serenity I never knew I possessed. I hope one day when I'm older and have learnt more on the ropes of life , I lay content and happy with who I am. I pray I find the happiness I could never find as a kid , i hope I find myself a home.
-Liyah Smith
