Being a homebody is a concept that is very much foreign to my people and those around me.
They don’t possibly understand what a girl, a young one at that could do all day stuck at home ,
when the outside world has so much to offer.....
Growing up, interacting with fellow members of the human species hasn’t always been my thing.
Gifted with awkwardness that’s contagious I think others have always associated my aloofness with me being a very serious, and a no-nonsense sort of child.
God, was I far from that
And only my home gets to see it.
Its my lover and best friend.
A place that’s seen the best sides of me
and worst sides of me.
It’s the place where I could do throw thousands of talents shows, when I couldn’t participate at school,
a place where I could eat however I want without being bothered about the restraints of proper etiquette,
a place where I wouldn’t have to meet up to the expectations of others.
My home really is where my heart is. Where an uncensored version of me lives.
A place where the crazy, hurt and happy me resides.