home is,

home, a place to remember, a place to return to. a place to build a place to feel safe. the place your from where you grew where you aged like a fine wine before you ventured out for the world to get its taste of you, for it to swirl you around in its glass and sip you, enjoy you, laugh about things with you with cheese and crackers. but be weary, they may see you as another tastng convention and spit you out. but as a trapeze artist has a safety net, home will always be there for you, for if the chalk on your halds wheres thin and you slip and fall, when your pushed to the end of the line in a dark scary lonely corner , home will be there for you. right there where you left it, with moms scratchy blankets in the closet and that old pillow thats never quite comfortable, but its there to comfort you if you need it. even though you fought so hard to distance yourself from it, it is there. that seeminly tiny place where you know how to glide across the old creaky livingroom without making a sound or that pitch of the front door in the cold winters morning. its a hard place to forget so is the infinite freedom you possessed as a child, when you ruled this place, when you were invinsible, where you were the champion of everything, the stanley cup winner of basement ball hockey or champ of driveway league NBA or the heavy weight wwf champ of the brothers room cage match.*
thank you moms and dads for giving us these comforts, these seemingly eternal nests for us to love, hate, and take for granted. because there are many people out there who may not have a fucking clue what im writing about, so thank you. its been a while, i miss the driveway, it allways feels like the finish line after along journey. ill see you soon. love john