What My Home Means To Me
When I think of home, I think of me calmly reading books.
When I think of home, I think of how safe and secure it looks.
I get to eat, sleep and lay in bed, and I let all my thoughts and worries drift out of my head.
When I think of home, I think of warmth and coziness.
When I think of home, I think of dinner and happiness
I like to think of bed, with dreams in my head. I like to think of my mom’s special garlic bread.
I think of poor people with no homes, that’s bad. I can’t imagine what they’re feeling, probably very very sad.
Home is where I can be me, a little girl who can be free.
Why be sad when I can be glad, why be angry when I can be hungry.
Home is where everything I need is at my fingertips, home is where fresh food and clean water can touch my lips.
Home is where everyone should be, not sitting down begging on the streets.
This is why I love my home, thank you for reading my poem.