Happiness.

you are my happiness

my contentment, my strength

you give me life, provide me hope

you are the one I love the most

but there’s the sad truth

the painful reality

that you are not always how I want to be

you are my happiness, nobody else

it’s a blessing, yet sometimes

it’s a curse

Too much.

Little pieces, one by one.

My mind goes, oh how have you won.

Successfully, you tore me apart.

Looking at the remains of my broken heart.

Are you happy? Did you mean it?

That I ruin everything, just like you said.

That you hate me, just like you said.

Words are too much, too much for my heart.

Home.

Home.
Freedom.
Home is where the heart is and freedom is what we find at home.
Home is where you can be yourself without worry.
Freedom is how you can be yourself.
But home is not just a place, nor is freedom just a state.
Both are felt in the heart and soul.
Home is without stress. 
It’s where you can rest your mess of a life. 
It’s a place you go to get rid of toxicity and inhale the felicity and feel the electricity coursing through your veins.
You feel the good chills up in your arms like you’re on top of a hilltop, topping positive feelings you’ve felt before.
You scream your lungs out without fear of… anything.
Without fear. Bravery. Brave.
One. Brave enough to be something. 
Two. Brave enough to do anything.
Lastly, you’re brave enough to feel what you feel.
At home, you can be brave.
Express, profess, be dauntless.
Home.
Freedom.
Two different words. Words within words.
Two different concepts, one big image.
Again, both are felt in the heart and soul.
And with that, you are home.
And at home, you are free.