Home

Someone dearest to me,
she was beaten and torn,
within the very walls she was born,
but she still calls it home.
We might not be perfect.
You would never lay a heavy hand.
We’re not that broken, are we?
So can I still call you my home?
The definition is a little worn
and my soul has been wandering
for some time now.
It would be nice to settle
but not in the way dust does.
So can I still call you my home?
Or is it wrong to do so?