Home; or is it?

Adulthood…
It makes me question what
I’m supposed to call
A home that is constant…
Is it the arms I was born into?
That they termed family
Or is it the arms that held onto
Me in situations innumerable?
Or the arms that we fell into;
Armed in armor and amour?
Is it home if I refuge, change
And move out of?
Is it home if I don’t feel home
Anywhere anymore?
Or is it just that, home is within
And we don’t just see it?