The Earth is my home, but it holds no sole place for me. In times of need, you run to the dwelling of your childhood and into your parent's arms. I have no such protective figures. My father is the sun and my mother the moon. The ocean birthed me, rays of light cleansed me, the sky raised me. The leaves are my roof and trunks of elder trees stand sturdy as walls at which against I lean. My irritations fall not with siblings, but rather tiny insects that find their prickly appendages on my skin. I escape to the sea, I retreat to the trees, I seek refuge in fields full of flowers and green. None of my species embrace my being through streaming tears and heaves, but I breathe in crisp air and exhale into a quiet breeze. Alone and in peace where no other person can further damage me. I may not have village nor family, but I have my planet Earth, and she is as much welcoming as I am destined to keep. Nomadically roaming, I'll always have the sun and the seeds. Without home, I persist, because all I've ever had is me.