Mar 14
poem 0 comments challenge: Home

Home

Home is where the heart is,
and my heart lies in ink.

My home is where a single pen
glides across paper,
in quick, precise movements.

My home holds 
the smell of old books,
and the soft crinkle
of turning pages.

My home is where I write freely,
no eyes but mine have seen
what I have hidden between
these bound pages.

Home is where I learn who I am,
and decide who I'll become.