Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

Home is not our house. 

Our house is a four sided wall,

made out of cement, 

With rivets and bolts.

Home is not our community.

Our community is filled with dishonesty.

You have taught me to always smile 

And wave when I see my neighbors,

Because it is the "polite thing to do".

But as I recall, your smile was far from a smile, 

but a 'smile' coiled in tar drenched in callous remarks, wrapped in pity

pretending to be a smile.

You are not nice.

Home is not America.

America is home to the few, but not many.

You tell me to stand for a flag, that represents the heart of this nation,

But how can I stand when my heart is barely pumping enough oxygen into my brain, for me to realize that my day actually begins when I get out of my bed? 

I am tired.

Home is not even society.

Society for you 60 years ago,

is different from society now.

You pressure me to be honest.

How can I be honest if the only words I were taught growing up was "yes" and "sorry"?

I am sorry mom that you have found out this way, but I am not honest.

Even honest Dave was not honest.

I am tired of not being honest.

Home is what I go home too.

Home is my light switch, to remind me every morning that I am living and that you aren't.

You are not living,

You are breathing. 

You constantly call me to come 'home', but what you don't realize is that I am home, and you're not welcomed.