A rusted home left empty,
And scarred from old night terrors
Damaged from nails and fires
Haunted from laughs and cries
Dusted windows and shelves
Blue paint chipping from cracking floral walls
Shadows of cats and dogs
Wailings of meows and barks
Green leaves with petals of white hug the edges of the home.
As the wind blows, the white porch ceiling sings chimes
As they leave, a rusted home is left behind
As they leave, a home becomes a house
Author's Commentary
What inspired you to write this poem?
At the start of writing this poem, I just listed off random words. I wrote down the word “move”; this gave me the idea of writing a poem of me moving, but instead of the actual moving process, I wrote about my home. When I first started writing this poem though, I was thinking about my mom and dad and the bad memories of it. I didn’t want that to be the outcome of my poem, so I rewrote a few parts of it. I wanted it to feel like my home, or any typical place someone calls home. My home has good memories and bad ones. I wanted to combine those two things together to make a home; I wanted to be able to let that part of my life go, so I could move on happily. As I feel a bittersweet feeling of actually leaving because I’ve lived there my whole life. I wanted to commemorate my home for one final time before I leave.