all my life, i thought i was a museum,

waiting for paintings, statues, stories

to fill my walls in, to make me complete;

putting people, poets and artists first

and teaching them to put me second always.

but today, i choose not to be a museum anymore.

i am a library, a park, a street,

where life breathes and withers,

i am a work in progress,

everyday adding up to

become who i should be.

i do not need others to fill me,

for i am complete in myself.

the brush's in my hand and my life's my canvas

and i shall not let anyone else

write down my history and my legacy.

all my life i thought i was a museum,

not realising that i had been a home all the way down.