my house has large fences

with spikes

and brick walls with

shards of broken glass stuck on top.


my house is colored red,

but there are patches falling

apart where you can see

the older layers of

pink, purple, orange and black.


my house has tinted windows-

the kind where you can see

nothing from the outside

but everything from the inside-

albeit with a hue of purple longing


my house smells like pine trees

and mcdonald’s signature sauce.


my house is younger than me –

i built it when i was 10 or 11.


although i have sold almost all

of my furniture,

i come back to my house

again and again.


and though the hardwood

floor hurts my back as I lay

and the mosquitoes sting me

all over,

I always wake up here

and peer longingly at the houses

that surrounds me –


but i dare not step out

for the fear of finding that

my house is imaginary

and once, I am out there

in the world,


i will have nothing to

call home


once again.


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