.
.
.
when i ask you to come in
you stand in the doorway and shout at me
you do not like the home i've built
- the windows are a gross mutilation of all shapes possible - the paint on the walls are saturated tones of every color that your mother taught you to hate and you taught me the same but
these colors hold me everytime my insides yell at me for everything i did wrong
the ceiling arches at impossible angles and the pillars are at places you warned me to stay away from
but this is my home - every dirty corner - every stained glass -
all of it is my home
even the places you ask me to stay away from
so the next time you tell me at the dinner table to talk
please listen.
.
.
.
