weekly poem- poem eight

My house

Is really not a very nice house

It’s lacking the strength of a clay-fired heat

Built atop these flimsy bird feet

Like an egg, so brittle

Leaving me to feel so little

My house

teeters with invisible emotional weight

chalky names scribbled on our blended family slate

Like grima screeching down my spine

Fix me with rusty nails. Promise me I’m fine

looking ridiculous hiding my fleece

Locking bedroom doors to keep the peace

Full stop

Heart drop

I want to move past those games we played

Understanding may have been delayed

But my red wagon full of feels

Has been rolling in circles on tired wheels

So, unpack the qualm and quandary.

I’m ready to wash my dirty laundry

Open every cupboard up wide

Leave nowhere for abhorrence to hide

Can we paint this house freshly new?

To get the hate out, use zaffre blue.

Rehydrate the dried roses to leafing

Everyone from your corners, even if seething

My house

Has the potential to be a very nice house

Fill it with smiles and comfortable ease

Let’s all treat distrust like a disease

Because I love each and every little mouse

In this home called my house

-Norma Rrae

you can find the art that inspired this poem here:

I realize I’m completely off the weekly poem schedule! I’m trying friends, I’m trying ☺️

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