PoeticBiscuit

Open House

My mind is that of a house,

it’s empty with the silence growing loud,

Ripped curtains, ceiling falling apart,

Grass ten feet high still growing in the yard,

Cracked floors,

Shattered glass,

Broken boards,

Cob webs amassed,

But this is my home.

I open up a window with every poem,

Letting you peer through and see what’s on the inside,

Sorry I didn’t clean up it’s been quite some time,

haven’t had any visitors for a while,

Closed my self off when I was just a child,

Because I couldn’t speak and explain all of my hurt,

I’m only capable of doing so when I’m writing down the words,

But now I’m opening up the door and letting things air out,

If you want you can step inside and be welcomed into my open house.