Anything can be a home,

But the beauty of a home is

How it makes you feel—

The warmth, the comfort, the belonging.

And I remember a time when it didn’t—

The home of my body and mind.

At first I didn’t even notice or mind

That my body and mind wasn’t a home

For my identity—it just didn’t

Fit that ball of confusion. Or is

It my identity that was not belonging?

Then, I began to feel...

Blank. I didn’t feel.

And I began to mind

The weight of my identity not belonging

In me; the fact it had no home

Since my mutated identity is

A muted yellow and white that just didn’t.

I was white because my family didn’t

Speak Chinese. But I feel

Yellow because that is

My skin’s “color.” But my mind

Couldn’t process this nor provide home

For this homeless belonging.

I examined this belonging

In the mirror for years. It didn’t

Need a home;

It needed acceptance or to feel

Accepted, at the least, in my mind.

That’s just how it is.

My adoptee identity is

A part of myself, belonging

And being accepted in my mind.

For a long time, it didn’t

Until a community made me feel

Accepted and made me feel at home.

Now, I don’t mind and my identity is

Comfortable in its home. My belonging—

When it didn’t fit—this was the feel.