Poet13's Blog

My house is an art project it is an assemblage
wherein I traded intimacy for passion
recognized the self to transform it.

Alone in my longest hour I am pragmatic
I am therefore content
I cannot choose one room over another
I am where I am.

If I give offense it is for self-protection
quills scratch parchment and flesh alike
one a testament the other a scar.

It’s true I never let you in
in all the time I chased you
this awareness tempered my indignity
when you left me behind.

Once again guilt undermines comfort
I admit I don’t know what I was creating
but the form must have suited my purpose.