A piece of me died in that house
It's wrapped in white linen
It's been left on the mantle
By the fireplace
I haven't seen it in years
The oak wood flooring
And the tiles that were always cold
The step that led to the living room
The hallway that went on forever
A piece of me died here
If you stand there quietly
The sun shines in through the kitchen window
I always wanted a window like that
But now they make me grieve
This used to be my home
A piece of me died here
If you stand there and wait
Wait patiently
You'll hear it scream
You'll hear me
This place and it's bones
And what seems to be a happy home
Is not as nice as it seems
A piece of me died here
It used to be a home
But then a piece of me died there
And it became a house
A sad house
A house I used to call home
A piece of me died here
A piece of me died in that house
Where is my home?
YOU ARE READING
Where The Grass Grows
PoetryA poetry collection about life & death, love, loss, & grief. Written through the lens of a 15-17-year-old girl. These poems are a collection of my story. Take care of them. They mean the world to me.
