Sunday, December 25, 2011

Home (On the 9th Day of Christmas)

Today, while looking through old things, I found this poem I wrote many many years ago and thought it was sweet. I was obviously not a great writer...


Home is
singing in the shower,
my sister scaring me when I am dancing along
in my room,
looking at my clothes trying to figure
out what to wear. 
Home is where I 
hug my piglet late at night, 
watch movies in the dark, 
smell the food my dad cooks each night
for dinner, 
looking out my window and seeing a full moon. 
Home is me throwing the ball for my dog as she runs after it. 
Home is 
a special place no one can make for you.
Home is celebrating holidays with my family. 
I love my home. 

After reading this, I decided to try and write another poem in the same model about what home means to me today. Excuse my horrible writing and cliches. 

Home is 
the taste of sweet dr. pepper 
just chilled perfectly on ice.
Home is
watching the stars dance across the sky 
while laying on my bed late at night; 
my skylight like a window into the universe so much bigger than me. 
Home is
the good things and the bad things, the little things and the big things, the overwhelming things and the underwhelming things, the surprises and the expectations,  all rolled up into one.  
It is being able to watch tv, or to read a book, or to take a bath all alone, and know that someone who is loving and who is caring will be waiting for you when you are done. 
Lately, home is listening to my mom play the hymns on the piano all through the holiday season.
For me, like some aspects of family, home is ever changing and adapting and like all the sayings say, home is not a place. 
Home is the feeling you get when your dogs greet you everyday without fail. 
Home is feelings, home is tastes, smells, sounds, and all those people who have ever touched you. Home is memories and moments that replay in your mind like little movies. 
Home is not just one thing, it is a montage. It is like a quilt that constantly grows. 
I love my home. 

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