the house took a lot of shit and stood.

it's so stressed its rooftiles are growing white

and shedding off. the house took the wrath

of my fists and said nothing but crack.

i've used those scars to peddle sympathy.

the house let itself be painted over, silently.

whenever we fought i blamed the house:

the way the light slips in through the window

like a slap on my face, the cats knocking over

the garbage cans that spill at the gate, the dust

piling up between the piled-up boxes and the piled-up clothes.

but now i know it was us, not the house,

and the foundation slips under me into a/void:

the cat knocks the window over into the garbage

which spills light all over my clothes such that

when i finally get out of here and go on a date

i'll wear a window instead of my black shirt

and she'll see through me, her eyes falling like rain

on the piled-up rooftiles painted over with blame. 

~ ajay

16/5/2024