Home

Home is not a room, a couch or a broom, Home isn’t a bed, a fridge or a shed, Home is a place you can rest your head, A space to say anything or nothing instead. Home is the place I see my family, we talk, we chat, we cry, we eat, and together we will feel better, no matter the day, the time or the weather. Home is where I feel no shame to laugh, to cry, to feel is not lame, Home is where I will not be judged, bullied, laughed at, taunted or nudged. Home is where I return every day, knowing I will not be pushed away, After a good day or after a bad one, I want to go home. I am happy I have one Happy I have a place I am warm, protected and safe and out of the storm, Happy I have my own little place to make myself comfortable in every way. There is a man outside of the store, sitting out there not begging for more, Sitting out there not being a bother, not asking and asking for even some water Not doing a crime or wasting our time, Not pouting or crying or even shouting, Why does this man out of every other one deserve not to have anything, just nothing and no one? Why does he have to suffer in the cold, not eating or drinking and just getting old? He might have done something maybe in the past, but why does he have to be an outcast? My home is safe and friendly and warm, but he does not have one, a place to call home. He has nowhere to go when he’s cold. He has a car seat, a hat, and a bowl.