To a Home that was not my own

I hated your smile the warmth of your touch the gentle
violence of your hands as you forced a strange tongue
into my mouth and even stranger faces before my
eyes purging all that once was familiar
 into a distant dream replaced by New words
 New bodies brand New clichés.
  You let me sow beneath your skin, watched, timid hesitations
   bloom into friendship tattoos and failing paper into a
   Bachelor’s Degree. I tried to tell a hero’s journey, of battles
    conquered and Identity solved. Pieced void into a nest, and scars
     into art. An Alien Acclimatised, a seed taken root. The subtle
      Difference remained in the Mirror, and my Name, in the
       Photoed Rectangle, tucked inside my wallet, by the faded
        Characters I could no longer read. A thread
         severed, a language lost. But
          I wished to be loved, despite being
a creature of the In-Between.
           You did not want me. Your rejection was
            pre-written in your ambivalent laws, and the
             exorbitant sums I could never afford. You
             fed me, shaped me, then asked me to leave.
              Slammed the doors I yearned to step in.
              All tongues, present and past tasted
               like stiff cotton and soft stones. Who
                am I, what is home? What can
                I do? Where do I go? The answer
                 rang in nonchalant shoulders and disinterested
                 gaze. Nobody. Nothing. Nowhere. I
                 spiralled, crashing and crumbling into the dark
                  red, pulsing terror of my own body, and
                  heard it whisper,