I don’t miss home: a poem

i don’t miss home.

The word itself feels

foreign on my tongue

spoken out of obligation

rather than genuine intention.

in truth,

there is no home for me.

not really.

i’m here, there, and everywhere,

never quite staying in one place

long enough to leave roots

only shadows

whispered memories of walking

in a native’s shoes

always pondering what could be

but nothing more.

i often day dream—

about what it would be like

if i did settle down

create a home of mortar and stone.

would i be happy?

maybe.

i still don’t want it though.

even with the possibility

of finally feeling content.

i have no need for such a feeling.

being content is appealing,

but it’s not for me.

not at the moment.

maybe not ever.

i am not meant to stay

in one place.

only to peer through

watching and wondering.