i stumbled on a mansion, its doors were left wide,
i heard welcome for someone like me to come inside.
it called me in, though I was barely known,
so I stepped through, blind to what it meant to be home.

it was quite a house, really
there were rooms with joy, some rooms with dust,
some were silent, and some had rust.
but this mansion felt like it was built for me,
built for only one person to live in, and that person is me.

i had to choose: be a guest or be the keeper.
the mansion’s beauty told me to go deeper.
so I accepted it.
i fixed every corner, filled missing cracks,
decorated the walls, repainted its past.
it was tiring, but I’d have a tidy home in return
and at the end of the day, I didn’t want this house to burn.

but I wasn’t perfect, so I strived and fled,
did the best I could with the thoughts in my head.
but something was speaking from inside the seams,
telling me softly, "this house isn't what it seems"
still, I ignored it—too invested to listen.
because im still staying, even under every condition

and time went on, and things seemed fine,
until ghosts started haunting each hallway line.
every corner, like it was all set up
it felt like another guest had suddenly shown up.
its like we were playing hide and seek,
but I was blinded by these ghosts being sleek,
from knowing who this house would truly keep.

and so, i lost.
i was evicted, replaced, and thrown in the frost.
all those efforts, the lessons I learned
all out the window, the same one where I yearned.
i was used, like a servant left unappreciated,
because I was too plain, too unsophisticated.

turns out I was just a guest, not meant to stay,
it was reserved for someone better to come that way.
the house was uncontented.
it showed me signs before I was resented.
but I ignored it, and I chose to stay
because i believed that if i kept trying,
i’d be the only guest to walk in each day.