This house is dirty, but it is comfortable
Love me biblically with messy church buried in bed sheets.
And don’t remind me I’m crazy
Even when I am kitchen knives to the holes in the wall
Even when I am scissors chopping locks at the dining room table screaming, “make me new!”
hoping you’ll tuck me inside yourself until I’m good again.
Inherit my breath
Know I am a rough draft
Ugly poetry, you scrawled in lipstick across the mirror
Unfinished poetry, the kind you use to get into girls bedrooms
This house, we built, is filled with closed windows and broken bible verses because we knew neither of us could keep up with that shit.
It is comfortable
like watching the world fall apart from skyscraper walking stilts.
And you don’t remind me that I am crazy because I am so afraid of being all spit fire and bruise… and also a little afraid of Kama Sutra.
Heard that we can make ghosts from the doorway
Heard we can make bedsprings turn into symphonies
Heard that age doesn’t make us less great-I want you to know, that your heart is much like my palms, always searching and always shaking.
Shake me awake in this house, that we built.
Dirty and comfortable.
And don’t remind me I’m crazy-just that my souls too big for this body- and that you're more than happy to leave some extra room.
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