Home
My house is a four walled room, with a toilet in the corner and a burner by the window.
The wooden floors have splinters and the metal cot is rusting.
The lamp flickers, but the bulb never kicks the bucket.
My house is a four walled box with an easel and some paint tubes.
A half dry canvas leaned up against an unpainted wall.
And overworked brushes rest in the same cups used to drink dusty tap water.
My house is a four walled, two floored room with a person passed out drunk on the floor in her underwear.
She swears in her sleep and curls up next to a bad drawing of a model she saw on Instagram.
She hasn’t taken out the garbage since she moved in six months ago.
My home is a four walled, two floored apartment, with water, a bed, an easel, a lamp, and me.
It is plain and small and dirty.
What more could I want?