My home isn't a place,

Its not confined to walls and windows,

No roof to keep the rain off,

It doesn't have a perfect kitchen,

Or a giant living room.

My home has a heart,

That beats to the same rhythm as mine,

Letting me in easier then opening any door.

My home has beautiful eyes,

That I wouldn't trade for any window.

My home has arms that hold me,

Keeping me safe,

Better than any walls could ever.

My home keeps me company,

Making me less lonely,

Unlike an empty house would.

My home is perfectly imperfect,

And that is what makes them home.