There’s this place I call home

And I don’t know why but it seems to me

That this place isn’t as simple as it used to be

I was a little girl - Their little girl, she her she her

Soccer shorts and t-shirts -- boys’ hand-me-downs,

But still i was their little girl - so sweet so fragile

But still they knew, I was a tough kid - tough for a girl

My family - they let me be, but the rest of this place, I never really knew

As she grew, the little girl became the neighborhood dyke

Elementary, middle school -- hell no, suddenly regulated

The skirt became required, a uniform so conspired

The feminine mystique - imposed ‘til seniority

An Oxford haven, suddenly free to be

And now, This place I knew, it has expanded and grown

It is now something I’m no longer sure I can call my own

 

There’s this place I call home

And there I have this person I call dad

It seems to be, from what I’m told, we’re the same, me and him

But this always got old

Fights - shouting, yelling, screaming, the occasional tear --

This dad I had - we fought because I assumed his sexism, his racism and

Prejudice deep within. He was subject to a contract he did not sign

But I myself made him this signatory

I disrupted our relationship even though i was told...

I was told we’re the same, me and him

I said how the hell can this be.

Do I speak up, or let this one go -- a constant battle, an exhausting waging

And yet, that place back home, I miss my dad, he’s the only damn one I’ve got.

Why do I refuse to see?

An Oxford haven, suddenly free of the quarrel between him and me

 

There's this place I call home

And there I have this person I call Mom

It seems to be, from what I’m told, I’m her, “kenzie baby,

Whatever makes you happy is happiness for me”

She let me grow and let me be, never gave a damn about soccer short me

But this person I call mom, she loves long beautiful hair, you see

I grew and polished this shiny golden brown hair, but then one day I said fuck it,

“Kenzie baby” this hair grows back you see

But still, I challenged this idea for so long

Because still, the stereotypes burned into me

Suppressed myself, deformed expression, an internal fight

I shouldn’t look the part anymore than I already do, right?

But these expectations, and such codifications -- stereotypes shoved in my damn face --

they fuck with the psyche. Is it me?

An Oxford haven, free of caging expectation

 

There’s this place I call home

And there I have this person I call Taylor

Sister, a fellow she -- we both were trained as all they expected us to be.

But oh, dichotomous as could be

long blonde hair, deep blue eyes, straight as a board, make-up and stylized

These expectations, such codifications -- stereotypes I see -- I don’t fit the mold.

They fucked with the way I saw my sister, and disrupted the way she saw me.

Sickness, damn, life events hit. This is a 180 but its relevant to me.

When it's just down to this person I call taylor and then me, then where’s this place I call home?

Fighting, the damn quarrels, they come back. What a fucked up thing it is to be battling your own sister when you’ve got this person you call dad fighting the reaper.

But then Oxford, a haven -- but I question that self-affirmation

 

There’s this place I call home

And there I have this person I call dad

We’re the same, me and him, or so i’ve been told.

it’s a strange thing -- I’ve come to see

I wondered, should i just stop -- let myself breathe

The perpetual killjoy; it’s not sustainable

Can i reconcile with the things tied to this place?

I don’t know what to do with it, I love you dad, I need to get over it.

This recognition, we’re wired the same.

He may not understand my gender expression, sexuality or rage with the world,

but he gets my operation. He gets it, you know?

He may not understand, but he doesn’t adhere to the status quo.

When I came out, this man I call dad, made me feel the safest, made me feel loved

I misjudged, I assumed --  I had ascribed him to be malicious, but benevolent he seems to be

The first to make me feel safe in my body, first to affirm that unconditional love.

First to show me, no dude -- someone really loves you

What a radical, unexpected thing; you come out and you discover dad’s love

An Oxford haven, I’m not so sure

 

There’s this place I call home

And there I have this person I call mom

I knew dad’s love, but this person called mom, where the hell did she stand

I wondered and spiraled, I questioned the love

“Kenzie baby,” I interpreted, “whatever makes you happy isn’t good enough.”

Maybe we expect too much of this notion of home

An embrace, but how much does it really mean

The mother-daughter bond, it’s as strong as can be

But i don’t know what happened in this place called home

I love my mom and yes, she loves me, but this narrative doesn’t reign

The first to love me, first to hold me but dichotomous we seem to be in my frame

One day, though, I recognized -- mom sees it too -- dad and me, we’re the same apparently

She marveled at the love and recognized this bond. So innate, natural -- unacquirable.

I recognized -- it fucks with the psyche -- this place is a place but it’s the people

and some relations just aren’t the same, maybe that’s why mom was so tearful

An Oxford haven, not really at all

 

There’s this place I call home

And there I have this person I call Taylor

Sister, someone who has grown extremely dear to me

Two dichotomous beings, but nevertheless the same

I may not fit the mold, but to hell with it

These expectations, such codifications, they just get so damn old

She’s the epitome -- the desired Eurocentric goal

But neither of us want that, a crippling expensive toll -- kills the body, kills the mind

Two dichotomous beings, we’ve grown and changed together, been through hell together

Best buds, playmates, comrades, shouting matches, sister brawls, crying hugs, a certain love

The first to be my best friend, first to fight, first to hug that horrifying night, first to help, first to be there in fright

First family member who knew I was gay -- First time I really knew I was a dumbass

This person called Taylor very well knew -- didn’t give a damn at all and I believed it true

An Oxford haven, but void of that first companion

 

There’s this place I call home

And there I have all this shit I’ve been through

Outdoor fun, growing, memories, childhood roams, the forest, the water, crabbing days

But treachery seeped into the trees, filled the creek, occupied and overtook my place

Animosity, my anger at the world for some unknown reason overtook me

Pissed at myself, pissed at society -- took it out on those closest to me

Family distress, came right in and fucked with the psyche, too much anxiety

In the Ox asylum, falling further into dissension, don’t know how to prevent it

A battle within my body; now I have a political existence

The big C, kept coming back with a vengeance

An Oxford haven, free of it, but life’s history goes with this split

 

There’s this place I call home

And I don’t know how I feel about this damn place

I loved it, i hated it, I needed it, I resented it, I came to appreciate it, now I am losing it

Maybe I came to understand it --- I don’t really know.

I’d  say I still don’t

There’s these people I have from this place called home

That place -- it’s seeped and overrun by prejudice

It attacks the soul, impossible to avoid, can’t eradicate it

But geography isn’t part of this equation

These people, they’ve got the craziness I need the most

An Oxford haven, not anything close

 

There’s this place I call home

And it’s so different from what I used to know

This place I knew, it has expanded and grown

I don’t know what home is, I’m still searching for whatever it may be in entirety

But, I know, it’s full of soccer shorts and all kinds of gendered clothes -- the kind not meant for my body

It’s full of queer people and acceptance, a place to flourish in mutual existence

It’s brimming with appreciating eyes and void of the gawking kind

The ones that gape and peer, gender deviance disrupting their peace of mind

My family - they let me be, but the rest of this place, I still don’t know

As she grew, the neighborhood ‘dyke’ said sure, you’re right

But still, only I can say that word.

Armored and weaponized, said to hell with all the expectations

An Oxford haven; home as a haven, what about society

This place called home, I still don’t really know, I’ve searched and think i’ve landed -- maybe within my identity

This place I knew, it remains within me; yes -- it is my own

 

There’s this place I call home

And there remains this person I call myself

That regulated she, now evolved -- yeah, a muddled identity

More personal agency -- but damn, this thing called society

If only the political imagination could just have its turn

Expectations and codifications -- life’s gift at birth

Is this really the way it has to be?

 

There’s this place I want to call home

And there I can be whatever I damn well please

What a revolutionary thought, human dignity

Respect of one’s body, no longer a commodity

An Oxford haven, a tiny bubble

This place called home, it shouldn’t be the only place free of trouble

This place called home, it’s made by the people

This place I want to call home, I dream it’s different than the current evil