the house

the house

with the pale, pink bricks

and the ebony shutters that never open

it sits right by the road, perched upon the slightest hill

i’ve never seen who lives inside

nor do i know if anyone does

and if they do, we share this home

with it's sense of calm

that i know i’m near where i’m supposed to be

on those early school mornings

where nothing feels quite right

Recent Posts

i sew roses on pillowcase covers write unread letters paint the moon black drink room-temperature coffee and play hopscotch with the ghosts

when he own a coffee shop i’ll play the jazz album we listened to on the drive back home and above the mugs will be the picture frame i...

mama said i didn’t have a heart so i think there’s a hole there where flowers grow and if you put a stethoscope you’d hear the mice that...

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