My house isn't what I call home
What I call home is my bedroom
the large bedroom crowded with past
thoughts, fights, spills, breakdowns, and messes
The bedroom that holds secrets
and refuses to let the outside world know
what has happened between these four walls
The bedroom that creeks and squeaks with age and wear
The bedroom that's layered in the dust of old memories
Despite what it was, happy, angry, sadness, and even curiosity,
It holds it all in it's crumbling walls
And though it has it's imperfections,
such as the broken door and the screenless window,
it's always there for when I need the comfort
that no human could ever give
And for that, I'm thankful
(This was a poem I had to write for Writer's Club and I actually kind of liked it, let me know what you think in the comments!)
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3 A.M Thoughts
PoetrySome poems? Some quotes too... Mostly written at 3 A.M HIGHEST RANKINGS: 26 in #mymind 87 in #mindless Love you guys <3
