A Human House

I have a horrible habit of transforming humans into homes
I make my carpet out of veins and my walls out of bones
and it's dangerous, because my bedroom collapses with each breath
I become homeless when the flesh is filled with death
please don't take this literally
I'm the farthest thing from a cannibal, admittedly
I just live through the people I love
I strive to become a brick that they are built out of
I want my memory engrained into the deepest crevice of their brain
But only if they are okay with protecting me from the rain
That falls in my head daily, I need the shelter they can provide
Because they know how crazy it can get inside
my mind.
When things get rough at the house in which I live
I run to these people, I take the love they have to give
I transform the love into words, the words on a page
the words slip out through the gaps in my ribcage
as if my heart is spilling out of a glass that is far too small;
a ticking time bomb waiting for the call.
some of these people never read my words
and that thought doesn't bother me, my feelings aren't hurt
because I know that the blatancy of what I say
might be met with misunderstanding, beauty transformed into dismay
and I accept that, because every house is different
some of them don't care, some are packed with interest
most don't understand that my writings reflect who I am
I am homeless, I am lifeless, quite frankly I don't give a damn
My home is not drowning with alcohol anymore
my home isn't the yelling behind closed doors
my home is endless laughter, acceptance and smiles
my home is plural, my home is scattered for miles
my home is flesh, my home is life,
my home is love, my home is light.