This House Is Not A Home Poem by jeanne harmon

This house is not a home
This is not the home that I’ve always known
My favorite picture frame with mom in it now lies in pieces on the floor
I just don’t live here anymore
The dresser that grandpa hand carved has something living inside it
Nothing about this place feels right one bit
I’m scared to open the fridge because something seems to be growing in there
I know I have home a but I don’t know where it is
The walls are starting to climb with mold
Everything here about this place just feels so cold
I don’t think that the F.E.M.A. trailer they’ll give me will suffice
It just seems impossible to find the happiness out all of this
I guess its time to pick up the pieces and move on
First I’ll just put all this stuff on front lawn
Until then this is just a stranger’s house that will someday become my home