Thank you for seeing museums in me where i saw empty hallways.

Is growing up realizing that the monster is not under your bed,  but is instead lying right next to you?

Your body is your home.
You wouldn't tell someone their home is too big or too small,
The ceilings too short or too tall
The wallpaper, skin, too old, wrinkled, crumpled and peeling or not the right tone.
The frame and foundation of bones connecting,
Some with clean cut marble perfection, some with broken bits and Floorboard splits.
But you wouldn't tell someone their home is too old or too new.
The value of the pipes, veins, visible in clenched fists.  The arch of an eyebrow or the shape of the roof, a scar or tattoo.  
You take care of your home because your life is here.
Inescapable, a cage within your ribcage.  
You hope and pray that if you take care of it then it will take care of you, Shelter you.
You wouldn't burn your own home.  Cut, scrape or bruise the stars locked On one side of your eyelids, your windows.  Who knows which side?
Your body is your home.  It is the only place you will ever truly be able to call home, the only thing that you will ever truly own.

There is gold in them hills, he says
Gazing whistfully at her peaks and valleys
So he's going digging
Chipping happily away at each new glittering curve he discovers
She watched on in giggling, sunlight type wonder
Curious if he shall ever be satisfied
For he was of a thirsty nature
One for white lightening
Another for the metallic shine
Of her lace-edged divine