These Green Shores
These green shores
As we approach these green shores, once again.
I can’t help but long for more,
from this life.
My house has never been my,
there is a fine line between welcome home and alone,
My home is across that deep blue sea,
were I am me and not an obnoxious foreign accent place between a soul’s desire for acceptance and stubborn hold of her authenticity.
When I, who have lived on these green shores all my life, am asked to where do I come from.
And I know that the blood that runs through my veins is both green and blue,
I still long for somewhere to call home though.
I can never be content within the walls of small villages and catholic schools though.
And I have never felt welcome in on the shores I was born and raised.
And I could never talk with pride in my voice, That’s what I’ve been thought though.
That’s what they want though.
And I could never talk without praying to some unknown power
“I hope they don’t mention my accent”.
And I should say as we pull up onto these green shores,
“I’m home” but instead I cry.
Cos these green shores despise my entirety.
And I can’t help but return the favor.