We are outsiders.

We are outsiders.

We are outsiders,

On the periphery,

Watching everyone else,

Pretending we’re like them,

But knowing we’re not.

The best we can hope for is to find a place where we don’t have to pretend.

Is home a place to run to, or a place we run from?

Only to hide out in places we’re more accepted, unconditionally.

Places that feel more like home to us,

because we can finally be who we are.

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