i focus so much on the fact that i almost died in this house
no matter how i strain against those memories
no matter how i shake
convulsively
completely out of control
the trauma
making my muscles
tremble
and i scream in my little,
beautiful,
warm,
snow encrusted cottage
by the stream
that i am so thankful for
trying to put a positive spin
on the fact that i lost the battle between a fresh start
and deadly memories
in this innocent house
that is undeserving
of the anguish
i brought with me
in boxes
that i never fully unpacked

and though my mind is diseased with the thought
when i am alone in the afternoons
that i almost died here
in this little shoebox room,
that some of the most horrific memories of my life
are here

i also
stayed
alive
here.
in this little cottage
by the stream
that i am so thankful for.

and every place i almost left
eternally
i somehow found the resolve to stay in.
and though through each house
may still slink reminders
that make me shake,
i must focus
and remember
my determination
to spread kindness
like this little house
with the warm floors
the quiet windows,
the gentle stream.