Nothing evokes as much peace and joy for me as the thought of coming home.
Home is a place where I can be myself,
where I can put down my masks
and scratch where it itches.
Home is where I have a place of my own at the table
and then to share food and stories with people who know my heart.
Home is where and when I am with people dear to me,
who know my pains and joys without me even having to say a word.
Home is where and when I can rest from the constant battles
I have to wage in being and becoming a better person without having to explain.
Home is where I retreat to lick my wounds and heal my spirit
until I am whole again.
Home is where my heart sings
and my mind recites poetry.
Home is where I hear and also say these words constantly;
“This is my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
I am coming home.