It's My Home Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

It may be a box.
And, not have a lock.
It may not have a window,
To look out a lot.
And it could be a bench,
Made of wood not cement.
It may be made from bushes,
With some sticks as a fence.
But what you see is my home.
Where I live and alone.
Yes, it's my home.
No need to mention its condition.
What you see is my home.
Where I live and alone.
And I ask for no approval,
Since it's mine to condone.

It may be a box.
And not have a lock.
It might not have a single window,
To look out from a lot.
But, it's my home.
Where I live and alone.
Yes, it's my home.
And to me its in mint condition.
This is my home.
Where I live and alone.
And I ask for no approval,
Since it's mine to condone.

'You live in a 'what'?
Home?
LOLOLOL.'

It may be a box,
Without a key or a lock.
It may not meet to your approval,
But I like it a lot.
And, it's my home.
Where I live and alone.
To ask no one for their approval,
Since it's mine to condone.