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My Home
January 9, 2015
My home isn’t a place.
It’s the atmosphere around me;
The way the air sends back the memories
I thought were forgotten long ago.
My home is when I smile
As I reminisce the hours I spent;
Growing up on a quiet road.
A little girl running with a smile,
Skinned knees and worn out sneakers.
Home is where
I find my happiness.
It’s where I remember all the times
I spent with the people I love.
My home isn’t a place;
It’s the feeling I get
When I’m at my happiest.
© Steve S., Marblehead, MA
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This article has 3 comments.
MarieAntoinette2014 DIAMOND said...
on Jan. 13 2015 at 8:14 am
Very nice. I relate to this. My home growing up was not a happy place. TO me, home is where my family is. Even when we're split across the country, when I'm talking to my sister I feel at home.
moonlitashes BRONZE said...
on Jan. 12 2015 at 10:46 pm
wowww.. your poem is pretty good :)
1 article 0 photos 1 comment
Favorite Quote:
"Home isn't a place; it's the way the air smells and the memories that flash back every time you inhale."