Maybe I'm uncomfortable
with the people
going around the house
I was raised most of my life in,
finding reasons to buy it
or arguing for a cheaper price.

Maybe it's because
there are too many flaws
a broken pipe,
a crooked tile,
severely ***** walls.

I think it's because my childhood belong here.
There, the tile of tears,
here the couch of laziness,
there the corner of misery,
there the wall of happiness.

Our marks, taller and taller,
growing with our height.

All that, and more,
will be gone.

And no one wants it,
because they don't know
how much it means
to grow up here.