Edema Rue

To the theatre, regarding a place:

There is a place where I belong.

Isn’t there?

There surely must be.

Everyone seems able to find one.

In a home or on a stage or a field.

A place of camaraderie,

Laughter,

Safety,

Love.

There is a place where my existence is not a burden, not a mistake, not something to be regretted but something to be loved. Something to be glad for. 

There is a place where I am not just something to be rued.

There is a place for me.

Isn’t there?

I live to love; I am here to care. I should not want anything in return…I should not want anything at all, when I have so much.

But I do.

I want a place.

I want to belong.

And, as demanding as I am, I want to belong to you.

I want you as my home.

I want you to be the place where I can go for rest.

I want you to be the place where I can be brave without fear of their scorn, for a chosen family would never mock one of their own, right?

A family of blood shouldn’t either.

But they do.

And I guess maybe hoping for something different from you was foolish.

I’d go somewhere else, I really would. 

But…

But you are the home to the outcasts.

And we are outcasts for a reason. We have nowhere else to go.

We.

How can I say we?

I.

I have nowhere else to go.

I am the one who is bound with chains of hope.

I am the one who is still dreaming.

I am the one who is still looking for a place.

For a person,

Or maybe a dozen.

I am the one who is dreaming of a place where I

Can belong.

It’s me.

It’s not them.

There is no us, no we.

Just me.

An outcast,

Even among outcasts.

A misfit,

Even among misfits.

Lonely,

Even among the forgotten.

Will you remember me, at least?

Will you care for me, still?

I want you to take me home.

As I’ve always been,

And as I’ll always be,

Rue