In Pursuit of Home

I like to think when two roads diverged in a yellow wood

I took the one less traveled,

but instead, I feel as if I have

forged my way amidst the trees and debris

somewhere between them both.

 

While my peers state I am

trudging a path no man has gone before,

I don't necessarily believe that to be true.

In choosing to disregard order,

I have also chosen to gamble that I

may or may not sleep alone tonight...

 

I have tried befriending the voice of reason

but it is hard to listen to a language I  don't understand.

So I guess when my feet grow stale

and this couch becomes all too familiar

I will sell the luxury of monotony

for a plane ticket to a new dream

and hope the reality of lonely soon will change.

 

If home is where the heart is

and mine is broken,

how do you stay warm under a cracked roof?

I'm not "living the dream" that they imagine;

I'm simply living,

and dreaming,

hoping one day they coincide,

because having to choose between the two

would be like choosing between water

and food.

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