i really like how this poem turned out, it feels calm and warm. it’s about my body as a house, and all the corners where i live. not sure exactly how it happened, but it got stuck in my head and i had to write it down!
my house is my body. i live in it like someone who just arrived with too many boxes and no map. my house is sometimes quiet, not empty, just resting. the kind of silence that feels like sunday afternoons and dust floating in the sun. sometimes it hums, a low noise under my skin, reminding me i’m here. my house has rooms i visit slowly. a small one behind my ribs where i keep thoughts folded neatly, not hidden, just waiting. a kitchen where i feed myself hope even when i’m not hungry. my house feels warm with others. voices in the hallway. music in the air. when i’m alone, it cools, but it’s never empty. there’s always something soft to hold. my house has walls that know me. they’ve heard thoughts before i trusted them with my mouth. they don’t answer back. they don’t leave. my house moves at night. my heart walking around. my bones settling in. i tell myself it’s normal, houses move when they’re lived in. my house isn’t perfect. it has cracks. but light gets in anyway. i don’t always love this place, but i stay. i open windows. i learn. because this house, unfinished and breathing, is mine.
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