Taylor Reese Poet Free verse

Home Without Me

A skull
A cup
A mug

A house of ribs,
No heart
No lungs.

Crooked serifs,
Fall like teeth.
No name that fits,
And no room to breathe.

Fingers,
Pinch the tongue—
That couldn't speak.
As every word runs away,
Scampering on little feet.

Oh.....
Look there goes my ghost.
Out here on the street.

         ~Kynsie~

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Alison A Smith October 5, 2026 at 2:04 PM This spare, fractured free verse beautifully embodies dispossession of identity: the clipped opening objects and skeletal house imagery make absence feel physical. The scattered lines, crooked typography, and final image of a ghost escaping “on little feet” create a haunting sense that even language and selfhood have fled.