Little White house on the corner
Where two presidents meet

Not much to look at
yet it holds so much history

Nothing most would be interested in
Just a little girl's horror and shame

There in a room papered with puppies and kittens  
I, a child, laid in an ornate daybed

I should had been safe
I wasn't

I have not returned in so long
yet I also have never left

I sit
parked
strong and fragile
where two presidents meet
remembering the things better forgotten

But, one cant forget what shapes you.
All anyone can do is be better than where you came from
and hope that any child that may now sleep in
the house on Roosevelt street
is safer than I ever was.