My door frame is easy to break

it bends in half,

if you blow on it

and there’s left over gum

in the cracks

from all of the ***** mouths

of people who tried

to blow my house in

(it’s probably because so many have gone

that allows for so many to come)



If the walls have any color,

please let me know



When you get inside you’ll see the floor

covered in thumbtacks

that have fallen

from the memories that were once pinned

to my walls

but have since blown away

by the same breaths that had blown in my door

(I wish I had the heart

to pin them

back up)



If the walls have any color,

please let me know



If you manage your way into my kitchen

you’ll find

tea bags

and charred kettles

that I used to burn my words

when my mouth got too hot

(I always mess things up when I speak)



If the walls have any color,

please let me know



Please excuse the honey

smeared to my furniture

it was used to make guests stick

who were anxious to leave

from the moment they arrived

(I think the scent of insecurity

wrapped in lavender oil

sickened them)

When fuming,

after the guests turn away

I gag myself

into my pink toilet bowel

to allow the memories,

that have rotted in my gut,

to roll out on to

my

tea stained tongue

So please use the bathroom upstairs



If the walls have any color,

please let me know



I do not live there anymore

I had to run away again,

to get away from these rooms

that once cradled my innocence

(the frame has grown weak from carrying such burdens)



If the walls have any color,

please let me know



you’ll find me underneath the floor boards