Home, a casualty of circumstance

An indescribable yearning to return to
where my skin feels at home,
where my identity isn’t questioned
where I’m not expected to assimilate,
or told to behave like citizens,
the very same ones that never fully accept

But in my country of birth,
I am ostracized
they judge my migrant soles, a traitor
for neglecting my ethnic roots.

And I’m reminded that
No city is ever home
I am the nomad, the wanderer, the chameleon
A foreigner,
Even in my own (home)land.


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