Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ankush 16h
Welcome !!

This is your house,
A door little tall,
The pet mittle spouse.

See ,
Those ten eyes ,
Lids some closed
The view is suffice,
Clatter of wood ,
Thud due wind,
And curtains fright.

Please make your way inside !!

This is the home in which you reside ,
This is where ,
you slept a myriad of nights.
Yes , this is the veranda of
Your childhood sunbaths,
Memory of joy,
Playing hard as mad .

Ooo,
It's your room,
Look at those doodles
On the walls,
Sketches of sun and crows
Signing your name ,
Across.

It's the TV you saw growing,
The fridge which colour's been fading
The bathroom's door which been
Cranking ,

(Joyful laugh)

Come beside,
Let's go on the roof ,
Take a breath
Let's move in a loop,
Sip of fresh air
Then make a move.

Reminisce the sunset ,
& The glare of moon ,
The panorama of lush green
silvered by lune.

This is your home
Not just a brick or stone ,
You spent your life here
Not just a shade of mere ,

This is a sweater of
Wool of will
The sweater that
has to be worn even
It's summer ,
It is an antique which
Only you can weave ,

So tell me ,

Why do you want to leave ?
Àŧùl 1d
Let's tell you a story,
Of art & of dance,
Not all that gory.

She was that dancer,
Not just an ordinary one,
A bar dancer in all her glory.

COVID-19 made it hard to work,
So, she started working online,
And began to twerk from home.

She was safe this way,
From the two viruses,
Both COVID and ***.

Plugged on to the revolution,
Clients were happy online,
And she made good money.
My HP Poem #2053
©Atul Kaushal
Raven 3d
BRING ME HOME
I scream into nothing
For the words will not leave
My vocal chords
Because not even I know what I mean

BRING ME A HOME
I beg the shadows that I see
When out alone at night
For I cannot beg a person
To give me that light

Home
Is all I beg for
Home
Is all I cry for
Home
Is all I long for
Home
HOme
HOMe
HOME

BRING ME HOME

But where is home
Or better yet

What is a home?

Is a home something I'll ever get?

You feel like I home
But I need something permanent
Or maybe just your arms
Around my body
Surrounding me
Until I'm buried

But no
You're not a home
You're a life
You're my life

So where (what) is home?

I'm breathless
And aching
And cracking
And breaking
As I beg and I claw
My way to a place
That I don't even understand
That I don't even think
I will ever reach

There is no home for me
With a burning fire
And a warm bed
And a happy setting

There is only an abandoned
Cold
Empty
House
With floorboards exposing nails
And windowsills that leave you splintered

There is only an abandoned house
With no blankets but the clawing
Lonely thoughts

There is only a house
But not even
For a house would still give shelter
And this place only leaves you

Nothing
For you were nothing
From the day you were born

Abandoned from the second you breathed

Nothing
Nothing
NOTHING
Mar/10/2025
A stolen childhood is irreplaceable

Lost in the fuzzy static of camcorders
Gideon 5d
My mother is a spider.
Carefully crafted webs fill my childhood home.
With great care, she weaves day and night,
trapping her family inside.
We struggle but only doom ourselves further.
I am a fly,
buzzing as I wrap myself in her silken strands.
My sister is a butterfly,
flapping her wings as the webbing pulls off her beautiful scales.
My brothers are bees
who once sought bright flowers and hives of others like them.
My father is a moth,
guided to the web’s shimmering light.
Now, we all lie still, drained of life,
slowly being consumed by the weaver.
Maryann I Mar 3
Home is not home.
Home should be safe.
Home should be warm,
a refuge, a haven, a light in the storm.

Home should be love,
gentle hands, soft words,
a place where hearts are heard.

Home should not be fear.
Not shadows creeping down the hall,
not silence heavy, cold, and small.
Not walls that whisper cruel goodnights,
not the sting of words or hands clenched tight.

Home should be safe.
Not a place where pain resides,
where truth is twisted, love divides.
Not where voices crack like whips,
or where exhaustion grips and grips…

Home should be safe.
Home should be bright.
Home should be laughter spilling through the night.
Home should be warmth, should be rest,
should be peace where weary hearts nest.

Home should be safe.
Home should be home.
Myrrdin Feb 27
My body still carries the home I grew up in
I am still hiding from my father's anger
My mother's disappointment
Drowning them out was easier
When they did not speak with my own voice
Oh darling,
I'm not at home,
If I'm not with you.
You're my polished floors,
My grand oak door.
The sweet luxury of my bed,
At the end of a long day of longing.
Warmth of my fireplace,
In the evening when not a worldly soul wakes.
When it comes to love,
I'm real picky,
I won't have it if it's not you.
My morning mug of coffee, my evening cup of tea.
Jonathan Moya Feb 25
Birds know the way home,
the door that has their name or
how to sing it into existence, if lost.

Through it they find each other
even in a burning world—
they find their being.

And in that last lost sky
they sing it into their feet,
combine it with the dirt’s prophecy.

Look up in the sky, at the birds
and praise these passerine who
can sing open doors we cannot.

The treaty they have made with
the sky includes us for they
treasure the world’s wholeness.
Next page