my dream house

I am an escape artist

my art medium lies within my mind, for no one but me

since so much of me is already taken up with everyone and everything else

I like to create little worlds and spaces in which I feel safe and happy

and store them up for the times in which I feel neither of those things;

One of my favorite “places” to be is my ideal home -

my “dream house,” so to speak -

depending on the day, this home can be quite different;

Most often, it has lots and lots of windows

so that whispery thin winds can breeze through freely

and cottony daylight can settle softly on surfaces, showcasing the gentle reality of things;

The house would be in some gold-lit, tall-grassed place

where the weather is almost always exactly like

that one spring day (you know the one)

that is so perfectly warm and airy and sunny, not too much of any one thing;

Sometimes, though, I like to make it stormy

just so I can sit by the great big windows

watch the crackling light-show sky

and breathe in the rain;

The floors are smooth polished wood beneath bare feet, the walls clean white with the occasional indeterminate decoration

every room is broad and open so I can always breathe easy

and most of the time, it is silent

not completely devoid of sound,

but silent in the way that noises are gone, so that you can hear the way air moves around you,

and you can hear that lovely way your clothes brush against you and the floor and each other.

That house is also absolutely the best place to listen to music:

the acoustics are incredible

and there’s always room to dance.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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