I am no architect, but
I dream big.
I’d been out in the cold so long -
who could blame a bit of desperation?
All I ever wanted was a home,
some scrap of safety, security.

I thought I could find home
in another person,
so I built a tower
out of possibility,
out of every bit of desire
salvaged from all the old wreck sites.

My bricks were your
attention and love,
my glue was my hope.

I had the foundation in place overnight.

-

I built but
you helped,
encouraged me,
made me think
that I could do this,
that we could do this.

We built the tower together.

-

you are my idea of home,
you wrote to me once,
and I believed you,
thought words and intentions
could be as strong as bricks,
would glue us together.

I am no architect, but
this time I was sure
that the foundations were strong,
that desire could translate to permanence.

But I ignored the cracks,
thought they’d seal themselves
on their own.

I dream big,
but my foundations
were shaky,
made out of finite temperamental material
that crumbles to dust
when disaster strikes.

-

Disaster struck,
and once again
I was out in the cold,
left to the elements.
Silences are as devastating
as earthquakes,
and my tower turned brittle,
crumbled around me.

There is no safety in towers