When I was younger, I moved a lot,

Home was not a house, not a place, not a single spot,

But I wanted that room, that place I always knew,

I wanted my own space, known by few,

But that’s hard to have when you move like a hurricane,

From mines to beaches, to cities, to sugar cane,

All up the east coast and a little on the west,

Sometimes I thought I found a place that I liked best,

But I have always been uprooted, always moved elsewhere,

Now I live in a place where I must share,

I miss my little rooms, I miss my special places,

I miss that feeling of having my own spaces,

But I don’t mind too much anymore, because they exist within me,

One day I’ll breathe them into a real home, hopefully, we’ll see.