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Poetry

Dissociative

Where do I find home,

when there are ghosts in my mind,

stripping my soul.

When I’m a foreign building, war prone,

hanging a toe between love and hatred.

When I’m in a body whose skin isn’t mine,

but we share the same shredding name.

When I’m a monument with a sacred history,

welcoming a few friends I’ve never seen.

When I’m bounded with angels and demons,

Yet, alone and in search of myself.

Why does it feel like worlds being clenched,

Bones getting wrecked,

But tell me why,

Why it feels like home.

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