I'm Homeless

If home is where the heart is
what does that mean for me?
My heart is split in peices,
halfway across a country, how can it possibly be beatin--?
torn between where I've been, and maybe where I'm goin
I dont know, I dont know, where is home... for me?

If home is where the heart is
do I have to choose?
No doubt my choice will always loose...
Is home the place you hang your hat, or kick off your shoes?
Or take a snooze?
Or go when you're cryin, cause you feel like hiding
when you've got a bad case of the blues?

If home is where the heart is, is that where you're loved?
What if thats lots of places?
What if you've never known, you've never known, loving embraces?
Or does it mean with family, even if you're faced
faced with loveless faces?
I dont know, what is home? What does it mean?


Well if, home is where the heart is
I guess it beats inside my chest, I'm home with each and every breath
Home is inside us where every,
hope we've had, every
tear we've shed, and
dream we've dreamt, where every
prayer we've said and
word we've meant -- home's where that comes from,
yeah


I wrote this song the day before I came back from my Christmas break.

For the past couple of weeks, more like the past couple of months, I've been feeling homeless. Not in the sense of, I have no where to live, because God has been good, God is faithful.

Tonight I was thinking about where my home really lies. This song came to my mind, and for the first time I thought, "Maybe home isnt really any of those things." As I was walking home, crying, I kept thinking.

Maybe home is something that I dont have.
Its in you're best friend's conversation, or in the warm arms of loving hug, people that really know you.
These are the people that get you, dont judge you or preach at you.
I dont have anyone like that.
Not that I can walk over to and cry with.

Who needs this mess?
I dont know.
But I need a home, soon.

Rusted

Every now and then I feel like no one knows how I feel.
No one that is.
No one as in person.

But there is a way to describe how I feel -- and not in a textural sense.
Rust.

That's the best way to describe me -- rust.


Okay, so I'm not saying that my skin is very reddish orange and feels like metal sandpaper... no, indeed that would be crazy...

No, what I'm saying is that, I'm like rust.

Rust is something that I find beautiful. It is something that is burned and weathered by the elements around it, creating its harsh, coloured texture. Ultimately it is weak and isn't always appreciated.






The thing is, I feel like rust sometimes.

I can look beautiful... or I can be different colours that some find intriguing, but ultimately, I can be harsh. I can be weak and unappreciated.

My defective character or the fact that I am socially inept, (or something of the like) is the only reason I can explain these jaded, rough edges, carved away by the world around me -- these situations, these trials, these people that I meet.

At first, my rough surface is just that -- the wear and tear has only affected the outmost appearance. But eventually, it digs itself deep into my core, and I become brittle, ready to crack, break and cry -- a shattered pile on the floor.

Eventually, the Good Mechanic repairs me... when I've decided that it's no longer possible to maintain the fragile state that the rust finds itself in

Sometimes, I feel like rust.

Take My Hand

I'll cut this silence and make a stand
"Will you run with me? and
Take my hand?

"I've been living life a little too bland
So now to be bold, will you
Take my hand?

"I've been offered the world, but it aint too grand
But I've found what I need, if you'll
Take my hand.

"You see, life very rarely goes the way I planned,
I know things will make sense, just
Take my hand.

"I've searched the forests and fields in every land
But I'll search no more, if you'd just
Take my hand

"So you've heard my love and my laugh and my stand
Will you run with me? Will you
Take my hand?"




June 2 2008