The Nomad

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Sandwiched between places,
I am a place
Without a ground
To call my own.
I go here,
I go there,
Yet I am nowhere
For a while;
My while eats them alive.
They talk in whispers,
How my presence
Bothers their heartless bodies.
You wanted me beside you,
I am right here behind you,
Why do you not care now
That I am here?
Did my more of me
Smother your love?
It isn’t a day yet,
And you talk about my leaving,
As if a nomad is all about it.
I need a house to helm,
Hot food to spit,
My ideas on paper;
They are thin,
Don’t try to win
People when they are hungry.
I have been served
Cold and warm hearts
On a platter, and now,
I have lost my appetite for hearts.
I often wonder about
The other side,
When I’d be the host,
And you’d be my guest,
I don’t remember you as dirt
But a face on smiles.
I was never about goodbyes,
I could use a little welcome,
I could stay,
If you say
So, you see,
I am not a nomad by choice.

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