Home.

They say, "home isn't a place, its a feeling." And I can't disagree with this statement at all. You stay within the four walls of your room feeling secured because home is supposed to be the safest place in the world. But being safe and being confined have two different meanings. A place where one cannot talk about the ill mental health they are suffering through because parents who are supposed to be our savior are unable or should I say don't want to understand what their child is going through. A place where a person is sabotaged repeatedly but no one speaks about it in the name of family. A place where one's efforts aren't appreciated enough but one keeps on doing them anyway in the name of duty. A place where people don't want to stay and feel they don't belong there, but stays anyway in the name of responsibility. 
For me, home is nothing but a person whose face makes you forget all the unfair means of the world. With whom you don't need to talk much but just not give up on each other because that person saves you from your chaos. Home is a person to whom you can show your insecurities and where you can put your head on their lap and sleep with a sigh of relief.