A yellow house stands before me

Chipped paint and missing shingles,
overgrown bushes and weeds

A cat scatters across the unmowed lawn,
past an unsightly car that takes me to the grocery store

Broken stones stick to a porch of my childhood,
a screen with no handle opens my past

My feet are enclosed in a small space
searching for more room

Grasping for enough space for all
six people, two floors, yet four bedrooms

Cleaning the bathroom by myself,
waiting for my mother to come home

Yelling from above keeps me up at night,
full of anger as I try to slumber on a lumpy bed of dreams

The smell of onions and pasta awakens me from a long nap,
as my pillow begs me to stay

The flaws of this house lead me to where
people started and ended a life,

A place where a new family began,
but decided to take different paths in the road

It may be ugly, messy, even 80 years old,
but this place is what I call Home.