Take me home.

I want to go home.
I must have mumbled it aloud. For I see heads turning towards me. Some sneer, some taunt and there's one or two showing pure concern.
Not unexpected, that is pretty much the reactions I always get, when I talk of my home. I don't really blame them, for home for them is those four walls, with those spaces left open,to let those claustrophobic-brain-numbing emotions out, but then, for whatever stupid idea, shut down with doors and windows, bolted tight!
Naah! That's not my home! it never was.
My home, I have in people. My people. Who let me in, with all my edges & curves, my filth & warmth, my gaping holes & spilling needs, my corroding minuses & cryptic pluses. Who let me in and let me stay. That is the home I crave for. That is the home I plead to be allowed to run to. On those dusty, stormy or eyes-burning-red-dry days, that is the home I want to hide in.
Not easy. The rents run high. The prices leave me stranded on the streets. Making me want to carve out Hiraeth, you know, like a classified ad. 
That is when my mind plays in a loop...I want to go home.
Home. To peace, warmth and nightmare-less deep sleep.
Take me home.

Survival games

"Forgive and forget"
Why? Not how but, why?
Over the years, over the countless times I have heard this,from all quarters and halves,
my focus has shifted...
from how to why.
For I know it is not possible to forget.
Oh yes, it ain't. 
Pushing something to the back of the closet,
piling stuff above it, doesn't make it disappear.
It stays.
When it is a conscious effort to not pull it out, it can't be termed as "forgotten".
Let it be there.
I Pull it out every now and then.
Let the guilt/shame/fear/ugly coat me once again.
It is what made me who I am.
The only strength I need to worry about is to pull it out or put it back at will.
So, stop harping about forgiving and forgetting.
I don't intend to forget.
Neither forgive.
For forgiving is but just a fancy term for brushing things under the carpet.
And I like walking on even grounds.
Period.