This is the first time these walls haven't been mine.
The first time since I picked out yellow paint and swirled pink-red rose buds onto it when I was four
The first time since I kicked a hole in the door, crying
The first time since I sat, looking out of that window (which is no longer quite mine) and dreaming of the places I would, could, might go

It's the first time since I snuck my first boy in here, parents gone and brother upstairs
The first time since I cried myself to sleep
It's the first time since I stared at the walls and talked myself off of the edge
The first time since I laid here, right here, but when it was mine, listening to records softly play

It's the first time since I climbed out of the window late at night and sat on the roof
The first and most rebellious thing I had done (it might still be)

This is the first time that these walls haven't felt like home.