Home

Home
Not so much a place
put a thing, or a feeling.

Home is the smell
of ink on paper
as you pour your essence
onto a crisp piece of paper
Is the soft feeling
of getting lost
in a daydream
Is the trickling of sweat
as you play out in the sun
four hours
Is opening the door
and feeling the cold
bitter air
of winter
Home is a story
a gripping
hard-core
fiery story
Home.

 

EverlastingWaves

VT

15 years old

More by EverlastingWaves

  • Thoughts after the fair

    I’ve never enjoyed the feeling of being sick to your stomach on a fair ride. Maybe I just don’t have the iron-willed intestines that all of my friends seem to have, because I get sick from going on the teacups at a normal speed.

  • october, my love

    october,
    my love,
    it is good to see you once again.

    although it appears i have missed
    your grand entrance,
    while i left the room.

    i walked along the street to visit you,
    and looked up,
  • scratches

    skin pulled taut and tight
    burning like the light
    that seeps through cracks
    underneath the door

    from stray branches and walking
    throughout the woods, balking
    at the idea
    of no path

    water rests on skin