A Quiet Place

Noises are all around me:
People talking and laughing,
Dishes clinking against the sink,
Music blaring from a CD.

I sit by myself, a book in my hands.
The room loses focus as I read
About vampires, faeries, and wizards
And my mind escapes to faraway lands.

Sometimes I'd rather dance with a faerie
In the tall green grass of a field
Or run with the werewolves after we change.
Sometimes I prefer the imaginary.

I come from a quiet place,
My own little corner of the world,
A place that no one can touch
Unless I let them in my space.

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For Day 11 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt was to write a poem of origin: where I am from, not necessarily geographically. I struggled a little with this poem, hence why it's four days late, and I feel I can add more eventually, but for now this is a poem about myself as a quiet child preferring to read a book rather than interact with the real world.