i now live in a plastic house,
coated nicely in yellow and green and blue
made pretty when people come to visit,
but entirely different when the day is through.
"move!" this house now shouts at me,
says i’m putting its patience to the test
"i’m sorry," i say, though quietly.
"i thought this place was made for rest."
and as i walk through these colorful halls
i hear the lullabies of familiar walls
but time has changed its color scheme
and everything’s had a shift in theme—
rarely do I now see this house aglow
in its lonely blue and green and yellow
maybe during christmas eve
i’ll think again of wanting to leave
but for now with every tic and toc
i wait until things are like how they've been
before time put up a brand new clock
before the table grew tired of the evening routine
you see, in this house they do not speak
they spit out words of annoyance and hate
unlike before, when lullabies
tucked you to bed and then you’d awake
with the smell of pancakes filling the air
mum, let’s go back to when things were fair
and lovely and playful and gentle and sweet
dad, what happened to your dancing feet?
i live now not with family,
just people with whom i’m supposed to be.
and so once again, i lay in bed
and pray: God, let not this house be dead.