I’m not my pain,
it is an alien
trying to take over,
not what should remain.
I’m not my fears,
they are vicious shadows
living in my nightmares;
I am not my tears.
My identity by choice
would be a writer,
woman, friend and lover,
free, using my voice.
My home is sand and water and your thought,
to dwell in them is how I feel at home,
from shoreline towards dune I walk and roam.
A prisoner maybe I am, and caught
by promises of love and making home
though free I feel, like sea waves topped with foam.
You could not keep me here if this was not
what I had wished for, what it was I sought,
I would not stay and live on silty loam
if this was not the place that I call home.