What exactly is home?

A place where I go to hide or from which I hide?
Is it a place where I can giggle like a child or one where I am forced to lose my innocence?
A place with walls to protect me, but I no longer feel safe.
A place where people around me are talking to me but their words don't reach me anymore.
A house will never be a home;
its boundaries can conceal me, but what if what I actually need is to conceal myself from those boundaries?
Is home where I lost my sparks or is it where I feel it raging through the walls?
If I'm no longer myself, is this place really home?
Or, if I'm accepted just as I am, am I at home?
Is it still home if I wish to be anyplace else but here?
© anshika