My story (also) lives here: A.H.

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I walk these streets, a shadow thin,
A stranger wearing someone else’s skin.
They stare, they whisper, I don’t belong,
A song out of key, a note too long.

I twist my tongue, I bend my speech,
To sound like them, to fit, to reach.
But even smiles feel borrowed, fake,
A fragile mask I have to make.

At school they laugh, at school they tease,
And I carry the weight no one sees.
I nod, I play, I hide the ache,
A quiet heart I cannot break.

Then comes the ship, the journey wide,
Across the waves, across the tide.
The deck beneath me, the salt in the air,
The wind in my hair, the world laid bare.

I sail toward the land I know,
Where stories of home like rivers flow.
The streets are familiar, the voices mine,
Yet still I’m adrift, still out of line.

Too much of me belongs over here,
Too much belongs to a place so near.
I watch the children, I watch the skies,
I search for myself in others’ eyes.

The language flows like it should,
The air smells right, the food tastes good.
But even here I feel apart,
A stranger holding my own heart.

The nights are hardest, the silence deep,
The waves below rock me to sleep.
I dream of both worlds I cannot choose,
A child adrift, with nothing to lose.

I long for roots, for solid ground,
For a place where my name is found.
But every step feels unclaimed, unclear,
I am in between, year after year.

The ship rocks gently, the horizon wide,
I stare at the water, swallowed by tide.
The sea becomes a mirror of my mind,
Reflecting the worlds I leave behind.

Yet still I rise, still I speak,
Even when the world feels cold and bleak.
I am my story, I am my pain,
I am the sun that rises again

I carry two homes across the sea,
Two worlds that live inside of me.
And maybe someday, I will stand free,
A bridge between what was and what can be.