I felt as if the world grew in the palm of your hands, every inch of you another ocean, another forest. But you began to cut your own trees down so I could build a home with you, so I could embed myself in the thought of us. But see my mother always told me not to make homes out of people. For those are the worst. We begun to tear the walls of the own foundation we had spent months to build up. You began to draw a line between us. "Do not step pass." You started to introduced the idea of failure.  With every word was like a longer line.  But; we're okay; right? Your tongue like knifes, but could never cut as deep as the hope that you never get the taste of my love off of your lips. So I pick up a hammer, bringing down every stupid ******* brick build up. And I'll stand by you, despite the fact that sometimes you sting worse than salt poured on an open wound. But it could never sting enough to demolish my love for you. So I'll stand by you, vulnerable as can be, but at least I'll know we still have a fighting chance. So I stand by you, and love you unconditionally because love is full of sacrifices and I know I'll be okay. So I'll stand by you, just so long as you replace your knifed tongue with a galaxy of words filled with hope. So I'll stand by you; possibly forever. Just so long as you promise to help build our walls of our home back up with me.

If I was a monster,
I'd be a hideous, roaring beast
who would take on the world
for the life of a seed

If I was a monster
I'd have swirling black eyes
that would be windows to my soul
but you'd never get close enough to see

If I was a monster
I'd have a heart of diamond
Buried in veins of coal
Hidden within the matted fur
and broken wings
My dreams of tomorrow
smashed in pieces
on the floor of my cave

Since when did you fall back into the habit
of making homes out of people?

Stop being so silly.
It's dangerous.

You begin again with your inner monologue:
When will you ever learn?
You've slipped back into the glass comfort of
relocating your heart.
Back from the library into
a girl's blue hair, a boy's ricocheting argument,
so it beats in time,
in time
to the indie music pirouetting out of shared earphones.

But then of course,
you're alone in your bedroom, thinking, realizing.
Those flowers that you've planted
in the skin of one, the eyes of another,
the hands and conversations, notes and
t-shirts
will die one day.
Death frightens you, keeps you
wide-eyed fearful.
A black nothing where
you can't grow flowers.

In all this, in all this,
you've forgotten to sow seeds in your own veins
and take care of your own petals.
You're bloodless and so
your petals lie flat and pale,
dying.
It isn't pretty.
And maybe that's why those homes
where you've nurtured a garden,
planted roses, lilies, ******* sunflowers,
eventually crumble, vanish,
leave.
Before you know it, you're staring at somebody else's home,
somebody else's flowers.
And wishing they were yours.

Haven't I told you
not to make homes out of people?

you walk inside my house and you sit on my kitchen floor and you ask me 'where have you been all these years?' i tell you i have been ripping out my hair, taking out fingerprints of past lovers and i tell you that you cannot stay here. that the floor he is sitting on is fragile and it will break when he tries to stand up. i tell him that handprints aren't beautiful. and neither are the sound of footprints. i tell him that hands were made to touch things, and feel things, but they were never taught to heal things. he begins to touch me and the floor cracks a little bit and he tells me 'why don't you sit here for a while?' i tell him that my skin is as delicate as a flower and the moment he lays another finger on me my petals will fall and i will wither faster than he can say 'come back. i am so sorry'. 'no. you cannot stay here' my hair begins to fall and a couple of strands land on his head and he doesn't notice. i say 'steven you cannot stay here' he insists 'no steven you cannot stay here'
well what do you want me to do
i want you to leave
but
no steven get out
I THOUGHT YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE FRAGILE. the minute i step out of here this house will fall and it will fall with rage like an avalanche that knows no mercy another traffic challenge with a child stuck inside. no i am not leaving. this floor will not prevent from breaking WHY DON'T YOU SIT HERE AWHILE.
he begins to touch me again 'DON'T TOUCH ME I SAID THE MINUTE YOU LAY HANDS ON ME DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND YOU WILL LEAVE HANDPRINTS THAT DON'T WASH OFF MEMORIES THAT DON'T FADE BROKEN BOTTLES OF LIQUOR THAT NEVER CLEAN THEMSELVES DIDNT I TELL YOU HANDPRINTS WEREN'T BEAUTIFUL.
well let me love y
NO. get out. get out steven. i don't love you anymore. get out of my house
you will br
i don't care. get out.

I don't really belong
to a particular place.
Making temporary homes
of the people I meet.
Until they fall apart like the rest,
and I fall through the cracks.
*Life moves on without me.

I like to think
Of our effect on flats
Of the change we make
On buildings of cold brick and steel

I look at houses, strange to me
And see the dead glass in the windows
I like to think
That to someone it is home.

It's a testament to humanity
That we can make buildings mean something
I like to think
Of how we give our world a story.

We give concrete and wood
The memories of a family meal
Of nights before a fire
Of a first kiss.

We are as important to what we see
As what we see is to us
We are the wind through the forest
The cricket in the starry night.

Don't believe me?
Look at an abandoned house.
There's nothing quite so tragic
As a doorstep never used,

Without a memory to bring it to life.

We used to spend hours
driving around looking at houses and
I never understood why you went to
the middle class neighborhoods
with the big homes that all looked the same and
pointed to the ones with
heavy wooden doors and thick brick walls
and all the cars in the garage and
called them your favorite
until I heard your voice crack when you said
they just look so sturdy
and I knew that
your walls were rotting and
falling down and
your foundation was cracked and
your windows were shattered and
the ceiling was starting to
cave in and
you liked the
big homes with
heavy wooden doors and thick brick walls
and all the cars in the garage because
they were
strong
when you
weren't.

I wonder if your mom was only sipping out the last drips from the bottle, to keep it away from the angry hands of your father.
I wonder if she slams the door as well, just to save him the trouble.
I wonder if she yells at the walls and buries her head where they meet, just so that he knows he isn't alone.
I wonder if she harms her own skin just so he doesn't have to.
I wonder if she tells herself she's worthless so he can save his breath.
I wonder if everyday, she breaks herself down so that he can feel like he's at least better than someone.
I ask myself often what you learnt from living in a house built up of dented walls and liquor stained floors.
I try to convince myself that you managed to build your own shelter, that you're different than them.
When you yell, I try to believe that you're just letting the sounds of your childhood escape your head.
When you punch the walls, I try to convince myself that your trying to make this new home a little more familiar.
When you bruise my skin I try to convince myself its because you don't want me to do it for you.
When you trip on your way up the stairs because of the alcohol in your veins I try to convince myself its because you don't like the way a full bottle looks on the kitchen counter.
When you turn away from me, I try to convince myself its because your scared to let me see you cry.
And after all this, when you tell me you love me; I try to convince myself that you really do.

Our love was fruitful
But so rotten
Far from an Adam and Eve's story
We both knew what were doing
When we were in the sheets
We both had it all and gave it up for nothing
Lust in the air every time we connect a stare
Hyatt knew us well.
Hyatt knew us well.