What Home Means to Me

My house is not like others, My house is my home. Things scattered all over the floor. My house is rarely neat. But that's how I like it, That makes it home. I hear my older brother yelling at his computer screen, My younger brother is playing with his lizard. The sound of his laughter fills the hallway. if it's quiet, it's not complete. That's what makes it home. The creaking stairs, the squeaky doors, I truly couldn't recognize my home without them. They make it home. I hear my family fighting about weird things again, I feel it would be weird if we were “perfect”. Our family imperfections make it home. We may fight, we may brawl, but I will forever and always love my family. They make our house home.