My Home

I wake up and here the buzz of the real world, But my bed is so comfy I don't wanna come out. I brush my teeth and stare at the white foam, Saying in my head, this is my home. I’m in my art studio and i remember my bed, But no chance of coming back to it with a long day ahead. With every stroke I paint across my canvas, I let out a new feeling. But it seems like everything is repeating. Although sometime this is what I dread, This is where I get fed, and this is where I will always consider home. As I let out my feelings and my prayers, The walls soak up everything I say. They know what goes on through and by the day. The carpet chewed up by the dog, The couches scratched by the cat, The candles in every corner were placed with care. It may not be perfect, But it's the only place that doesn’t make my brain go splat. The old she I live in, The warm and joyful feelings that kick in, The black wood is rusting. Not pretty from the outside, But it's clear that it is from the inside. My home. Not very beautiful, But it's just what I need.