What Home Means

Home is not the house we bought, from the hands that sought to sell that plot. Home is not the walls I see, yet that’s what I thought it used to be. Home is not the house we sought, from the hands that sought to sell that plot. For the hands that sought to sell that plot, their home moved with their thoughts. Home is not the carpet I smell, yet that’s what I thought it used to be. Home is not the house we bought, from the hands that sought to sell that plot. Home is not the sound I hear, in the walls, buzzing in the air, yet that’s what I thought it used to be. Home is not the thing I feel, on the ground, a smooth floor, yet that’s what I thought it used to be. Home is not the house we sought, from the hands that sought to sell that plot. Home is not the fast food I eat in house, yet that’s what I thought it used to be. What I see when I think of home is family, cause they’re the ones that makes it home. Home is not the house we bought, from the hands that sought to sell that plot. When I think about the smell of my home, I think of my mom cooking, the smell, so well. When I think about the sound of my home, I think of my baby sister laughing all day long. Home is not the house we sought, from the hands that sought to sell that plot. When I think about the feeling of home, I think about my parents caring all day long. When I think of the taste of home, I think of my mom cooking food, That taste so well.