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.