My refresh button.

There for me when the world makes dangerous turns.

Reducing the volume of water that gets to me when there are storms.

I sometimes wish you would shield me from all of it, but I guess there is education from your leaks.


Your fence may not be up to scratch, but you teach me to welcome strangers with less to no boundaries.

Your walls and your roof with no sound proof taught me to hear a cry from a neighbour.

Because you did not have enough food, I am able to share with the others.

The noise, you, the shack, made when the was rain trained me to filter what mostly matters.


Sometimes I’m ashamed to come from you but you never complained.

You still don’t complain, because what you know about me cannot be compared.

And you’re patient, watching me going backwards and making mistakes.

Your plan is just to shelter me every time that I feel naked and exposed.


You stay stationary, and it is up to me if I leave.

The welcoming is still the same should I come back, there are no conditions.

My fear is that one day you may not withstand the wind.

That I would go away and it blows and I’ll come to find you gone.

And then I would loose a place I called home.

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