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.

My words spoke,
My actions spoke,
Deafness was your choice

This is a really good poem you will find
Having the perfect number of lines
That's not too deep where as you'll over think
Or one that's too vague that will put you to sleep

A really good poem I've written this time
Knows what it's doing when it comes to the rhyme
With just enough hidden to have you wanting more
Loaded with action so you'll never be bored

This really good poem is a lot like fine dining
A seven course meal laid out in its rhyming
Holding you captive from beginning to end
Making you wonder how without it you ever could live

With this really good poem you can see I'm not lying
As you read over it once getting ready for twice
Being impressed with its rhythm and flow
This is a really good poem just so you know

In the village today is one more widow.

Only last night
on the warm love bed
was smudged her sindoor
all over forehead!

Her skin is still raw with his claw,

his neck fell today to the jungle's law.