Our beds are stacked together
Each at their own height
Each with their own color
Purple, Pink, Blue
They fit together,
But they are not the same.
The walls are green, but not the whole way
Giving the impression of hills in the distance.
A place, that can be anything,
A world of our making
A city with two squares
And a village of infinite joy
A mansion of Barbies hiding from witches
Or a desolate planet where we save those we can.
Home is not where the heart is
It is where the three hearts can be together
And play Anna Farmer, or American Girl,
Or Stuffed Superheroes, or Craig Rescues
It is where we escape to worlds which only exist
Finitely, like everything
But infinitely more beautiful than any flicker
We could’ve made on our own.