Thoughts from a Girl Not Doing Homework

This house is not a home, when you’re in it all alone

These walls can’t talk , but their barren spaces tell the tale

of a man who couldn’t love enough

and a girl who wanted far too much.

We grow up, but we’re never grown

Setting out to make it on our own

Walking in the same foot steps of everyone who has ever come before.

This heart beats, this blood flows

But it does so without feeling, like a poet without prose.

This tongue, these teeth make language

and this voice turns them into diction

But the phrases that make their way out

were carefully penned by an author writing fiction.

These lungs they expand, it’s a forced  inhalation

In rhythm with every line and every time

we knew we’d have to say goodbye.

This house is not a home,

it holds memories we hold dear

like a dusty catacomb

Thoughts too tender now to touch

but with time their skin will thicken

and as we age we’ll tell the tale

Of a boy

and a girl

and the friction.

 

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