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.