Bullshit Choice

You either have a home,
lose a home,
make a home,
become a home,
or you just never had one,
becoming that of an island,
sinking down a sand hole,
where else it could have been,
have as seen his lesser evils,
thinking that maybe she'll make a choice,
there is always a they or them,
but sometimes the he's and she's fall short,
to a less degree,
linger downward of sadness and envy,
painting yourself in hues that is blue all the way to green,
sure you want everything as simple,
like of how the good old times,
that bitty old lady in those shows,
that was like everyone's grandmother,
would make the best pie,
giving some kind of comfort inside and out,
though sadly no,
it can't always work like,
even if some wish that was true,
it can't be done like that,
though is there that night,
where you just wake up,
and see that everything is a fantasy,
being able to just easy things,
like for one thing;
eat to one's content,
bare an open heart on how you got it,
shamelessly compare it another,
and see for a second,
who might have it better,
those who conduct a home,
or those who are an island,
and think then close for it,
of how easy things are and how,
bullshit the rest can be.