My place
is packed
Sometimes dishes are left untouched
and piled with crust. Sometimes
there’s a rack
of sparkling glasses, bowls, and plates,but
my place
isn’t always like this…homely
I least I call it home,butimnotsureifitis i hate to admit. Sorry back on topic
My Place can be sunny,but
dirty. Rainy, but
maybe a comparison in between
The rocks all gray are scattered,but the paper is more mean

This poem makes me...
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