I love how our cabinets don't hang straight. I love how I can smell our laundry right outside the front door, smelling like us and fabric softener. The lights, always soft and golden, show us just enough. The books devour the walls of our home like ivy. The vacuum has a rechargeable battery and a slender, chicken-neck; I'm sure we'll snap it. Would you want any of it if it wasn't at least a little broken?
I love how the walls of my heart don't hang straight. I love how I can smell the smoke rising from the ashes I've built; smelling like my fury and love. The lights dangling from my ribs, always hazy and golden, show you just enough. The stories of past and present lives devour my soul like ivy. My spine is rechargeable with the corded tangle of my nerves; I'm sure you'll snap it. Would you want me if I wasn't at least a little broken?
1/9/16
Dedicated to:
Rudo & The House of the African Violets (Apt. 249)
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