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Imagine there’s a painting
adorning the wall of some president’s master bedroom. It hangs
beneath a mirrored ceiling where his wife
(lucky her) gets to watch his pumping ****
wobble like a pale hairy jelly.

Let’s say it sits above a dozen nicotine silver wigs
on a perfect chesterfield dresser,
and maybe it gazes down, in lurid grey and gold:

a grinning Adolf ******
riding a merry go round of charging marble stallions,
one leather glove tightly gripping the reigns
the other waving at scores
of muscular blonde women
and heroic dead eyed men
with lantern jaws.

Let’s just say this now and get it out in the open
before it’s too late.
Alexis May 14
there no distractions any more
the books can only hold me for so long and
it's only me
in this house
that is not home and
my thoughts are all i am left with
my thoughts are all i am left with
my thoughts are all i am left with
Luna Maria May 10
home is
(the people I love)
my hand in your hand
when I lean in against your chest
and hear your heart beat

home is
a place without four walls
where I can close my eyes
and feel safe enough
to run
without fear

home is
the body I live in
(cry in, love in, die in)
where I exist and love myself
home to you
One house

Two house

Three house

Plural if it suits

Four house

Five house

Six house

******* seventy two

I had a house

my 72

that I just threw away

I have a house

a tiny house

that I continue to stray

It’s not that I don’t love my house

It’s not that it’s not true

My worry is: is this my house
       or am I making do?

But the more I realize

the more I do

that a house is not a home

and those are only in your head

so grow it on your own.
Mitch Prax May 2
My heart is
a haunted house
made up of many rooms.
Some are filled with books
and antiques from another time
while others are filled
with shadows and demons.
I locked those doors long ago
and threw away the key.
Regina Apr 30
She rises in the Blue Ridge mist,
her Gothic presence quite tall,
spirits of the legendary Vanderbilts exist,
they whisper within the regal halls,
when humble slob me does pass-
I wish to mingle with these ghosts of high class.
Nicole Corona Apr 24
That fine American living room
That fine American house

Sparrow’s wings beating against red walls

Portrait of a young girl
hair spilling in clean ringlets
over the back of a crystal beaded gown

From the top of the stairs
I count out too many windows
to undress our patience

Skylight above owes me a glimpse

though death has become a cheapened
thing perhaps with the way we
sanction off parts of ourselves

just to lament family portraits
tucked away in dresser drawers

We make our way into the library
take pleasure in tearing the pages
from a leather bound book

I catch you lingering

You’ve always been
a step ahead of me

Never reading too much into the silence
Never making a habit of indecision
Shadow Apr 22
Broken and abandoned,
The house has stood empty
Between woods and meadow
For twenty years.
From the side yards
Vines cover the shattered windows
And sagging porches.
Within, the house is empty,
Yet not.
Dust, filled with ghosts,
Creeps and roams in corners,
Then settles.
Lost in memory,
Bedrooms, kitchen, parlor,
Wait in silent reflection
Before gathering garlands of twilight.
In the attic,
Threads which once were curtains,
Sway on the dirge of a breeze.
Within the gate
Grass rolls like so much
Green fire.
Shingle by grey-weathered shingle,
Dreams gather
In once loved rooms
As the sun sets.
This carpet,
This red and brown
worn out
Never vacuumed

Is part of my room
Of my home
And I love it.
Amanda Apr 17
I have no place to run

I have no place to hide

This home I have lived in since my birth is no longer a safe location

Does not feel like there is anywhere suitable for a sanctuary

My own house as close to a safehouse as it gets for the present moment
Every single inhabitant of planet Earth is now a refugee
About the COVID-19 pandemic obviously
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