Where Your Heart Belongs

The smell of spaghetti fills the air, I can’t wait to taste it I take a bite And It’s delicious. The incredible taste makes my taste buds want more, Mom’s cooking is always the best. I look outside and realize it’s snowing, The snowflakes gently fall. I study all the white shapes, They’re all different just like Our homes. Like mine, In Nigeria there was no snow, But here in Manitoba there’s lots. And that makes me think of home. Home isn’t where you stay, It’s where you feel known. Home doesn't have to be a building with walls And a roof. It also doesn’t need to be perfect. My home is definitely not perfect. To me My home is, Me arguing with my brothers, mom’s cooking and Dad’s help, me waking up to a messy room, people laughing, and my older brother singing in the shower, me and my brothers watching TV, everyone praying and so much more. Your home can be as messy and goofy as mine But just remember home is your heart’s Special place And it’s where your heart belongs.