To Have A Home. Poem by Brooke Peterson

Home is where the heart is.
But my heart, has no home.
When I walk into my apartment.
I am never really alone.

To go back to my place,
having a place of my own.
My Things. In MY space,
is what makes your place, a home.

But alas here I am.
Sitting in 4 walls of white,
my cookie-cutter den.
I look down, make sure I'm not in stripes.

Keep looking forth till someday-
Someday is never here.
By the time I get my way,
I'll be neck deep in beer.