Four walls, two doors, and several Windows.
This is what defines a “home”
But is it actually a home when the walls are full of screams and broken dreams?
Is it a home when one parent doesn't always come home?
When you never want to be there?
If not then why do we still call it home?
Why not call it a house.
Because that is what it is.
It's a house we enter and live in but we never really want to be there.
So here I go. Up the steps and through the door.
Into the house, no longer a home.
Greeted with screams and the “I’m disappointed with you” look.
And yet I still tell people, I'm home.
YOU ARE READING
My Poetic Journey
DiversosThis book is basically my writings that go back to I think 2014. This is kind of a way for me to see how much my writing style has changed and hopefully give some people a little bit of inspiration! :-)
