Which Mother

My house does not feel like a home. the insults ricochet off these thin walls, nasty words feel like a sharp blade to the throat, shouts sound like bombshells. entering the front door is entering a warzone. The only peace is in solitude. lying on long grass, grabbing me like a hug. The whispering wind through branches reassuring me I'm safe. The smell of dirt and rain feels as if Mother Nature is reminding me that this is home.