Torn

Between two oceans I do roam, unsure which to call my home. Raised on the west coast, transformed on the east: I know enjoy a lobster feast. Two seasons: three wet one dry, or four with a summer so short I could cry. Which do I love more I cannot say, for I love them both in their own way. Its family and friends that really call. Dividing my time between them all. A birthday here, a zoom call there; I can't be expected to be everywhere. Truly, what decides, is what's in my heart and in my mind. Through memories fond and a bond that is strong I am always at home, wherever I roam, between the two oceans I call my home.