I grew up in the house I died in.
I grew up in a house that never truly was a home
There were four walls and a roof, and my family never left
Yet, there always was something lingering in the air
Enough to make you feel alone
There was no trust in our house
With secret keeping from one another
Began to crack our foundation
And bring me down with it
As wars, formed daily, disbanded by night
I was supposed to stay awake
Holding our house together
Switching sides so our substructure doesn't fall
In holding every crack together
Trying to prevent everything from falling apart
You lose a piece of the roof
And you slowly start seeing the sky
Yet you cannot escape, for there is a part of you
Always underneath the footing
The actual aftermath of the rupture
Leads to the toxic inheritance of a plagued completion
For I am worried I cannot go over the cracks
And instead, have to rebuild the house
“Open House”
Poetry is a newly opened house
Where a family has yet to settle in
Where the walls will always remain cold
No matter who inhabits it
And the garden will always contain flowers
No matter what they decide to plant
Our yellow room with white walls
Where grandmother asks me
To tell her again about the Monarchs in our garden
The ones that fly in attempt to escape the horrors of this house
And the ones who cannot escape due to broken wings
How can one fly by only flapping their arms?
