My Home

[Sanamarie]

My house is made of bricks and
Cast concrete with wrought iron bars
Over the windows
Over the doors
In case of fire,
Burn.

The tiles are cool and slippery,
Moist in the mornings
Cool dew settles on them.
Open the windows when the sun is out
Or there will be mould.

Upstairs there are the bedrooms
And the bathrooms
Retiled by my father.
The tiles are crooked.

That is where I used to live.

Now I have an apartment
With neighbours on both sides
Maybe they leave their stove on
At night
And we will all burn together

The floors are dirty carpets,
There is a stain
Near the door
Where coffee spilled

And in the bathroom,
There are no tiles,
But lifting linoleum,
There is still mould.

[Joseph_ngaruiya]

I love the clarity of your ideas. I enjoyed reading the poem.

[John Owen]

A very good representation of what life is like when you live your parents. I enjoyed reading your poem.

[Pallavi Lakra]

This poem makes me wonder of what it'll be like when I move out of the house that I grew up in.

[Lucifer131]

This poem makes me awesome to realise me to know about the life with parents. i am understand poem little bit

[Sanamarie]

I love the clarity of your ideas. I enjoyed reading the poem.

Thank you! I am glad that you enjoyed it.

[Sanamarie]

This poem makes me wonder of what it'll be like when I move out of the house that I grew up in.

Haha there is mould

[review-specialist]

I enjoyed the contrast of the past home to where the persona now lives. The ending of there is still mould took me by surprise and made me smile.