Country of my home

And now I can breathe
I'm at the gates
Gates to the country of my home
And I feel good
I feel good for the bad things
The bad things that don't make me feel good.
The manerisms of my compatriots:
Desperate passangers
Twisted airport lines
Overly empathetic smiles
The cheap colognes

The tasteless sense of style
Loud families
Physical people
The same peculiarities
The same defects
That boils my brain
That makes me want to fly
Are the ones that I'm not alone
Are the ones I'm allowed to err
With all my shared aberrations
With all my quirk attempts
We accept our falls
Without fears
Without second-guesses
An organic margin of error
I get to
Today or tomorrow
As a promise or attempt
To feel
To love
To be.