Move me around

I tear open the bags as well as ripping into the boxes, loads of clothes and toys flow out yet it’s not Christmas. It’s a new scent a new view a new home, though I wouldn’t really call it a home as a home is somewhere you feel safe and welcome where you go to after a night of drinking or even the place you come back to after a holiday, it’s somewhere that puts a smile on your face every time you walk in. I’ve never had a home, living out of bags and boxes that have been written on in black ink marked with a keep or trash. I get told to get settled in, but I never do as it never lasts. Every new place is a new adventure a new school another sigh another round of making new friends meeting new people but how many people can one meet before going insane from the number of names, the memories and tears that has come pouring with it, as well as the lies and hurtful truths. Every new place is just another for me but that’s how I’m going to live is one after another never having just one. Yet every time I pack up my things I pack up my heart my mind and my soul to place it at the entrance of our new beginning hoping it would be safe yet stepping on it every time I enter, still my body quivers because I’ve gone through worse and I must be grateful because someone else has worse but how much worse can things get if my heart has fallen and my mind has given.

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