Here

It’s dirty out There,

I rarely feel clean.

The air has disease

and the people are mean.

Here is not pure,

a lot is askew.

But Here there is me

and There, there is you.

There it turns dark,

it gets hard to see.

Hard to see anything,

hard to see me.

Here it’s not bright,

in fact it gets dim.

But Here there is me,

and Here there’s no him.

Out There has no warmth,

or comfort or light.

Out There there’s you,

out There there’s a fight.

Here it feels numb,

yet easy to be.

Because Here there’s no you,

Here, there’s just me.

Here can be dirty and dark and cold,

and Here can get lonely

no matter how old.

And the thing about Here,

is she’s harsh and she’s true.

But the best thing of Here,

is Here: there’s no you.