The place you return to following the end of every passing day
The place you are able to enter and automatically feel
cherished, calm, collected.
The place your heart learns to yearn for
at an extremely young age.
The place where you not only have fallen in love with its infrastructure but also the memories created.
Home is the place you share with the ones you love most dearly
We are all familiar with the sayings that describe a home:
“Home is where the heart is”
“A house is made of bricks and beams
A home is made of love and dreams”
and perhaps the most famous
“There’s no place like home.”
I have never encountered a place like my home.
Upon entering my home
you will be welcomed
with mixed aromas of ginger cookies
and French vanilla candles.
You will be greeted by my dog storming the halls ensuing the sound of the front door opening.
You will wake up to breakfast already made
pancakes with extra, extra butter
enough bacon to give a heart attack.
My Home is the only place where all troubles are zapped away.
My Home is the place you’d rather be than going out to eat at some restaurant; my mother’s cooking can’t even compare to those amateurs.
My Home is the only place where there’s never a time where there’s not enough food to feed an army (my mother has always loved a man in uniform so it is possible that there is some correlation there).
My Home is the only place that will cause nostalgia until the last breath.
My Home is where my mom is because she brings warmth wherever she goes.
My Home is the only place that would be lost without my family.
My Home is the only place that’s apart of my identity.
This poem is about: