I remember this place called home.
My pictures hung on the walls, my clothes hung in a closet.
It had my little touches in every corner of my home.
It was my design~spent was my time
It was my home; it was mine.
I was always pleased to see my things placed to my liking in my home,
but a home is where the heart is.....
where does my heart belong?
The rooms change when I leave them
for my home is not my own.
The stone I layed for another
a home I made for a sister and her brother
in whose home no longer dwells their mother.

A new room, a stale room is for a short time where I laid my head,
a fellow patient asleep in the next bed.
A guest in a room not of my making; another's home
not mine for the taking.

A new city, another bed and different roomates a plenty.
Move again, "welcome home" a new friend greeted me.
Another bed, now three roomates.
I'll do whatever it takes!

My ego, it suffers while I feel my children slip away.
Gotta go, gotta roll and create my own before Turkey Day!
Months pass and money moves fast in this temporary home
nothings made to last.

Illusion created, my spirit still sedated
like the bats in the attic
my homes' been eradict~
So called home for recovery
has no more room for the addict in me.

Wandering homeless
not hopeless
when home is where the heart is
and my heart beats within me~
Does it really matter exactly where I be?

I'm in no man's land
just as a woman scorned would be.
Gotta drop my fears and my pride;
to grovel in humility.
Ease me from shame and towards spiritual gain.
I plea~God, make a home in me.