Our Heads on Our Shoulders

I have a house I call my own,

within a white cerebral sky.

It’s lively and it flows,

but someday it’ll die.


Splattered with pink, red, and white,

I confide within its walls.

My secrets and my flaws,

and my desperate pleading calls.


Cabinets are rimmed with documents

I’ve clustered in each shelf.

The memories I’ve stolen

And created myself.


No one can tell

that I love my little home,

Just because it’s chained and confined,

locked up and barred by bone. 


But someday I'm determined

To unlock that door,

and let the thoughts of a new era

mingle and war.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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