I slid to the floor of this solitary place
surrounded by hastily scribbled memos
on monochrome sheets of paper
and cannot find a singular one addressed to my former self;
they are tucked away in a box at the bottom of my heart
I no longer know this method
today, we dismantle
this plexiglass palace; cutting
our fingertips on shards of jagged glass.
building something that feels like forever:
this is Home.
this is my Home.
and In This House,
we lay to rest our demons
of the wintry months; these icy beasts
are no longer our burdens to bear
so we let them melt
like snowflakes; we let them go.
In This House,
we promise this world
a window for her brightness
Every Day; throw open the curtains,
curl up in this stream of soft sunlight,
sleep with the lights on if we must.
In This House.
there is little room for the girl I once was, unless
she is dash marks on door frames;
measuring just how much we've grown.
Love, if we continue to leave
the left half of drawers empty
for ghosts of girls we no longer know,
there will be
to store all of the Beautiful
you've spent your whole existence collecting.
This House is your permission to take up space:
Plant flowers of favorite memories,
The walls, painted any color that
reminds you of your best friend’s smile,
fill every corner with the warmth
you hope to never forget.
In This House
not of brick mortar, we have built
our first real Home.
entirely of laughter
and all you will ever need.
Darling, make Home of your bones;
it is all you will ever need.