What Home Means to Me

To me, home isn't just walls and a roof, It's a safe, loving place where I speak the truth. It's the sound of my family, no films of disguise, There's all that I need, lying right before my eyes. It's the yells of my sister, the stomps of her feet, But the laughter as well, surrendering defeat. And then there's my parents, supportive and kind, Who listen with care to every word on my mind. As well as the smells, the essence of home, All the memories cherished, now worth more than gold. It's the bittersweet coffee, brewed to morning's wake, And even the bread, golden-brown, freshly baked. Yet beyond all this, it's really the touch, That feeling of home, letting know I'm enough. It's the quiet of mornings, the rumble of night, The feeling I sense when everything feels just right. But what about when I must head for school? No matter what, I must not be fooled. It's simply proof that home is not one single place, It's a feeling -a warmth- that cannot be replaced. And that's how I know, whenever I feel alone, There's a place in my heart, and that place is home. Not just the bricks, domes, and plaster, But the full story is what I am after. This is all how I know, I don’t require a show, And inside my home, I can be me, It's the place where I, can feel truly free.