I built myself a home. A Nest. Like a bird, that collects sticks and soft things to make it all warm and cozy. Like loose strains of dog‘s fur, that the owner brushed lovingly. A home filled with things that I love. A home that is there to protect me, to shield me from the world. A place that is always there, where I can come back to anytime. Where something awaits me. A feeling of safety and security. Where I can rest deeply. Where I can be myself. Truly, fully, without restriction. I decide who I‘m inviting to come inside. Who I‘m keeping outside, while I‘m protected by the walls that surround me. 
Walls that really are flesh, skin and bones. 
A home that really is my body. 
Something that awaits me, that really is my soul. 
Waiting for her mother, who really, is me.