sometimes i feel more like a house than a person
with the way i decorate my body and my face
to hide damaged walls and empty spaces;
my heart is more like a door with changed locks
because i've made multiple keys for people
who walked all over me with filthy shoes,
people who said they could live here,
but they were just passing through.
i hope my eyes are not windows,
because i fear what the world might see—
all of my flaws and insecurities on display
like a coffee table or some shoddy love seat.
sometimes i swear i left the oven on and forgot
because my mind feels like a smoke detector
with the way my apprehension never calms.
i smell smoke, but i can't see it;
i'm told things are never as bad as i make them,
but every wildfire starts with a spark
and it's easy to burn when you're a house made of straw.
YOU ARE READING
melancholia in the milky way
Poetrymelancholia in the milky way is a poetry collection carved from misery and heartbreak; it is loving and being loved through the hardships, and it is searching the turmoil for specks of hope with a telescope. i'll post snippets here, but the full boo...
