Home is not a House

Home is not a house. To me, it is a place. The place where I was born. At age 7, I moved to Canada. My house in Canada is not home to me. It never will be. I had to leave my life, my family, my friends all behind. To me home is where you feel safe, safe to cry. I always have to hide my feelings here. I felt happy, safe, loved, and kind back home. Here, no one cares about me. I missed being cared for. Grade 5 was the hardest year of my life. I was mistreated, shunned and people made fun of me, my accent. My religion. People hurt me. Physically and emotionally. Back home, people cared about me. They thought about my feelings. They loved me. I loved them. Home is when people accept who you are. Home is where people want to know how you feel. Home is where you're not afraid of everything. Even your family. Home is where you can cry and people will care. Home is where you love you. Where you look forward to your birthdays instead of being afraid people will be rude. Every year it's the same. It's where you don't hate yourself. It's where your family is. It's where your friends don't hurt you.I want to cry. I want to scream. I want someone to wipe away my tears. No one wants me and no one cares. Let me free. Let people listen and hear what I have to say. I want to go home. The place where people care. The place where I am safe and warm. The place where people love me. Home is not a house for me. Home is a city. Home is Cape Town.