Destitute

Home.

Home is where we are a whole.

Home is where we,

as a family,

share memories.

Not share needles or pipes.

Not have to smell the scent of cheap beer.

Not having to kick bottles out of my walkway,

or to have to hide my sister from the abusive "man" who was supposed to protect us.

Home is where we love.

Home is where I can be myself and not be judged.

Home is not where I should be beaten with cruel,

cruel,

words.

It is not where I should be smacked for speaking the truth. 

I have became stronger by every hit that was laid upon me.

I have became to love my family like I am going to loose them at any moment.

Love is time.

It can be lost and never regained. 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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