i stayed up too late writing this

i wrote this at 2am. i'm also noticing that whenever i write a song lately, the lyrics sound kind of folky. i guess that's not a bad thing, just odd. or maybe they don't even sound folky, but i hear them folky in my head so that just predestines them to become a folk song. anyway. here is a start to my maybe a folk song. 

plots of land fold into other like a pop-up story book

but you were always in the plot

i'm plotting routes to omaha because i still feel undercooked

and your stuck in my blindspot

there's no oven like your laugh, though it never raised any dough

i was raised in its warmth

instead of being teased by you, i'm humbled by the city's glow

and even younger than before

i'm just a kid in a brick building

but i'm getting grounded.

you're still my home.

my dad gave us goofy nicknames and my mom woke us up for school

my sister snuck into my bed

quiet sundays at a desk and lonely hymns in a church pew

they isolate me more instead

i miss the morning sounds of family, miss the nighttime sound of friends

the comfort of a memorized landscape

i miss the nippy kitchen floor, i miss my mothers favorite pens

the simpleness i thought i could escape

i'm just a ape with a moleskin notebook

but i'm getting braver.

you're still my home. 

i'm just a newly stringless puppet

but i'm growing bones.

you're still my home.

i'll return with christmas lights hanging from my eyes

and hanging from my home. 

blinking messages in code north to tell my eyes

come on home. 

you're still my home.

come on home.