Home

My house is a four walled room, with a toilet in the corner and a burner by the window.

The wooden floors have splinters and the metal cot is rusting.

The lamp flickers, but the bulb never kicks the bucket.

My house is a four walled box with an easel and some paint tubes.

A half dry canvas leaned up against an unpainted wall.

And overworked brushes rest in the same cups used to drink dusty tap water.

My house is a four walled, two floored room with a person passed out drunk on the floor in her underwear.

She swears in her sleep and curls up next to a bad drawing of a model she saw on Instagram.

She hasn’t taken out the garbage since she moved in six months ago.

My home is a four walled, two floored apartment, with water, a bed, an easel, a lamp, and me.

It is plain and small and dirty.

What more could I want?