Where The Odd Ones Rest

I left that town before sunrise.
Not because I hated it —
just tired of shrinking to fit inside it.

There was a church on a hill and a feed-store sign,
A porch swing creaking like it still knew mine.
They waved from the window, they called me “dear,”
But no one really saw me standing there.
By noon the prairie opened wide and blessed —
Like it had saved me a place to rest.

I spent my whole life being “almost right” —
Too strange for their table, too soft for the fight.

Where do the odd ones go when the day gets long?
We go where the wind knows every broken song.
We go where the old hearts don’t have to pretend —
Where the dust says, child, you can come in.
One small orange thread in a sky gone pale —
That’s enough for hope when the strong things fail.
I found a little mercy on the horizon’s edge,
Where the odd ones rest and the hurt gets less.

I met a woman with moth-soft hands and eyes like rain,
She said, “Sit beside me — you don’t have to explain.”
We shared black coffee and a chunk of bread,
Laughed at the things we were taught to dread.
A giant face looked down through ancient stone —
And for once, I did not feel alone.

I used to think love was a narrow door —
Now I know some hearts are a whole wide shore.

Maybe home was never where I started from —
Maybe home is the place that lets me come undone.
Maybe being seen is not a crowd calling my name,
One quiet stone, whispering — child, you still remain.
Every wrinkle a river, every scar a page,
The world looked away — but the desert saved us a place.

Where do the odd ones go when the day gets long?
We go where the wind turns grief into song.
We go where the old hearts don’t disappear —
Where somebody finally says, I’m glad you’re here.
One small orange thread in a sky gone pale —
Still enough for grace when the proud things fail.
I found a little mercy on the horizon’s edge,
Where the odd ones rest and the hurt gets less.

I didn’t find a kingdom.
I found a table.
Still here. Still seen. Still shining in between.