i am a hotel room, a refuge to many but a true home to none
i am the rack of coats, all of the pockets turned out
i am unmade sheets
i am old curtains, worn from looking outside
i am the bible in the drawer, my significance long forgotten
i am the light that doesn't work as well as it should
i am the television set missing the remote
i am the complimentary notepad with no notes
i am mass-produced framed artwork, lackluster and faded
i am the armchair with questionable stains
i am the heavy darkness at night, the feeling someone is watching
i am repetitive carpet designs and tasteless coffee
i am the morning, an almost-hot shower
i am an empty hotel room, a refuge to many,
but a true home to none.