I miss my old home

My room
With my couch as a bed
And the walls I hand-painted blue because the yellow was ***** and ugly
With the spot on the wall I wrote my name on when I was seven

The thin walls I could always hear my dad sobbing and yelling through
The thousands of records and things of his dead mother that he kept
Especially his mother's plates which he only took out on birthdays

I miss "the music room" filled with instruments
Damaged wooden floors
And walls completely covered with paintings I've been making ever since I was five

I miss the big tree in our front yard
The one I would hug whenever I was sad when I was younger
The one I cried at on those last four nights

I miss the old floors
How I knew exactly where they would squeak
How I always used to get splinters from them

I miss the green sofa in our living room
The one ripped up by cats
My spot when I would watch TV

And I miss my desk
It was where I painted
It was the victim to all of my obsessions excluding this year
Every one left it's mark on it

It's filled with all my memories
It was where I always came back to
And now I don't live there anymore

We didn't keep our house
My dad kicked us out
Though apparently I'm "welcome anytime"
The last time I was there I wanted to cry
It was a junk yard
It looked and smelled like a crime

I miss my home
Just thinking about it my eyes water
I hate being sentimental like that
I can't help it though
I miss my home

I sometimes look at random people and
Make a backstory for them
Or analyze them in some way

I think about how
They don't even know I'm thinking about them
Then I wonder if anyone is thinking about me