By Scarlett West
Home is my old house where all of my memories are.
Home is being scared of the monsters outside my room,
where I ran to my parents trying not to wake my siblings.
Home is the handprints in front of the house,
where all of us made our mark.
Home is my dad’s homemade chocolate chip cookies,
and the sweet smell of my mom baking.
Home is the trouble of which I got into for drawing on the walls.
Home is the popsicles in the back freezer on a hot summer day.
Home is my grandma living in the extra house.
Home is the place where I got my nickname.
Home is where my family is.