The Place I call Home
Some people say that a house is a home and a home is a house but I disagree
I have a home that's special to me.
A home is so different from a house.
I know my home.
I can hear my home.
The small four legged meower asking for attention.
My parents' voices reading on a rainy day.
The pinkle plop of raindrops beating on the roof,running down the windows and then hitting puddles leaving ripples in the cold water.
I can feel my home.
The soft snug folds of my blanket barrettoed tightly around me.
Silken feathers of my breakfast producers.
The cool rush of air bathing me as I drift off to sleep.
I can see my home.
That night time prowler rolling across the patio after a long sailing trip.
Hundreds of words skipping and leaping through my pen onto my blue book.
The forest I spend my time in protecting my home from the beasts that lie beyond.
I can taste my home.
Splat crimson berry juice zings in my mouth followed by the soft pillowy texture of my mum’s muffins.
Crunch pop ,butter explodes in my mouth i snorf the handful of popcorn that I managed to grab before my mum swoops in to eat it all.
I'm like a snake when i get home. I can always taste the muddy cob walls on my tongue.
I can smell my home.
Dusty, old or shiny,new
the odour of those word filled adventures lining the shelves from the floor to the ceiling and the left to the right .
The spongy duvet freshly washed beckons me to bed.
Crunchy and dusty my cluckers food smelling of oatmeal cookies.
House.
Rock,cokret,gravel,
gry ,black ,white
A house is a skeleton, bare bones of an animal. They need blood, flesh, and a heart to survive.
So does a home.
This is why I disagree. A home is so different from a house. So are people homeless or are they houseless? I have seen those people on the streets cold and wet but I have also seen friendship and happiness.I think you can have a house and still be homeless and have a home and still be houseless.