Home

I've always had a house
a dwelling, residence, a place to sleep
but it's all in the wording
it is said a house is not a home, and
the thermostat has no emotion
even given its potential for warmth and coldness
no matter the climate
this place will never feel warm
growing up like me, I've never owned a bed
just a blanket and three pillows
to rest my loveless head
a home would be a beautiful gift
with one long floor, and rooms to spare
with the carpets forest green
the roof, flat, a bbq on top of it
to sit with beers, and friends, and food
with music, and  dog, and a lofty mood
I'd lay on the ground, alone at night
under stars, and smog, and God, and planes
and feel at home
without the burdens of a drunken father
or the void left by a loveless mother
I would be home, free.