There’s always powdered milk on the table when I go home, Soup crackers and rye bread for porridge. It isn’t my home– There’s always an empty room for visitors to sleep, To stay. But there’s never much room for me. I packed my things last night to runaway, I locked the door and threw my…
I visited my hometown yesterday: My hands became cold as I climbed off the bus. This place never gave me any comfort, just anxiety. l/r
What does your home mean to you?
This is an old character that I am so very proud of. l/r