She has always felt a bit alien.
A child isolating herself, feeling like an outsider.
Where she ends and the other begins
Still: pockets of presence
Feel like a present
(A cliché is nothing but a repeated truth.)
The tender beauty of humanity.
How do they do it?
Words, sentences, paragraphs
Pen to paper.
Our souls inhabit these houses
The house the child struggles to care for,
Then growing into knowing she is more than that
Place she calls home.
Alien, but not alone,