Homes.

Someone should have told me a long time ago;

We can’t make homes out of people.

I tried so hard to let people make themselves

Comfortable in my entrails; I allowed them

To scrawl their names in the corridors of my house.

There was a time when I could give away spare keys,

When I kept them in the kitchen drawers. Now

I think I should change the locks. Yet, I am afraid that 

Would stop those people who left me from coming 

Back to these rooms. Back to these hands.

These halls are empty without all their shouting,

I wander around this body as cold as midwinter.

Someone else took the embers of the fire that we lit.

And these bedrooms are full of soiled sheets but 

The bathroom is overflowing with perfume. 

We can’t contort this flesh into a shelter, not without 

Breaking bones against bricks, turning each other to

Stone under heavy hands and doormats under feet. 

I should've been told we can’t make homes out of people.

I only know it to be true because I have tried.

Reviews

[Jessalynn]

WOW! This touched me on a deep level. I've been in and sometimes still am in this position where you welcome someone in and they leave you used and abandoned. Amazing imagery great read. You just made a new fan ;)