Home

Where I’m from 
For some folks 
Is apple pie and Jesus. 
A comfortable, 
Unchallenged existence 
Filled with Bud Light, 
Cornfields, 
And dirty looks at people with colored hair 
And piercings. 
 
Home to them is avoidant. 
All scripture but no heart, 
All hate and no depth. 
 
Home to them is a place I am ashamed to be associated with. 
Me, 
With my Paganism 
And love for girls 
And boys 
And everyone in between. 
Me,  
With my “voice” 
And “opinions” 
And resistance to complacency. 
 
Home to me is boiled bones  
And tanned hides, 
Open hearts and mixed drinks. 
It’s a love that’s not conditional on  
How I spend my Sundays 
Or who I spend them with.

 
Home is all the folks 
Who don’t see their own validity 
Who pretend to be something they’re not 
Out of necessity. 
 
Home is knowing I can’t change where I come from, 
But I can change who comes from it. 
I can be the home they never got, 
Open my door to those who can’t ever go back 
Welcome them with a smile, 
A cup of tea, 
And a hug that breathes,  
 
You are allowed to exist.


Kylie Jorgensen lives in Fond du Lac, WI with their unconventional family of a quirky, supportive Scorpio, a direct, challenging Leo, and their ever-entertaining fur children. They write poetry and creative non-fiction, capturing the snarky, raw, and sometimes beautiful bits of humanity throughout their work.

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