if my body is a home, then I am an inmate
trapped behind steel walls
imprisoned in a wasteland of regret
the taste of tears and vodka has become too familiar
if my body is a home, then she must be a mansion
sometimes she is the key to my padlocked cell
other times she won't even pick up the phone
she will forever be the chain that holds me down
if my body is my home, then I am a burglar
little by little robbing myself of freedom
for the pure reason that I do not deserve the sunlight
each day the lock on my door adjusts a little tighter
if my body is my home, then there is a house fire
flames eating away at my bones
debris filling up my entire body
but at least I feel full
I wonder how many jumping jacks I must do to burn off the calories in ash
and if my body is a home, then I am a rose sprout
sitting on the windowsill, staring at the world outside
longing to be beautiful
but never quite blooming.
