Not For Sale

not for sale

if i were a house, i’d want to be

a yellow house.

with a door painted blue,

and pure white window shutters.

with a  garden in the front yard and in the backyard,

and basil planted in every windowsill.

a two story house,

big but not too big,

making sure to not take up too much space.

a house that is never on the market.

no real estate agents to be seen.

a house that has never been touched,

it is it’s own property.

but i'm not that house.

i'm a black house.

with a door painted gray

with no shutters,

but boards covering the shattered windows.

a front yard of overgrown weeds.

a backyard with no garden,

but a cemetery.

no basil in any windowsills, just cobwebs.

i am a four story house, too tall,

taking up too much space.

this house is always on the market,

it has potential.

people come and pick and pull,

trying to change this house.

this house has never been its own property.

but once they’ve picked and pulled,

they realize that there is far too much to be done,

too many things to change,

to pick at,

to pull apart.

it is tiring, so i decide

the house that i am is not for sale any longer,

it has bought itself.

for the first time since i have been built and abandoned,

i am my own property.

i go to the store and i buy hammers and i buy nails,

i buy basil,

flowers,

and gallons of paint.

i take the boards off of my windows,

replace with orange shutters.

leave some of the windows shattered,

because all things cant be perfect,

and i'm okay with that.

i clear the cobwebs and plant basil in every windowsill,

cut the weeds,

replace them with grass seeds and water,

wait patiently,

because i know how hard it is to grow.

i put flowers at every grave in the cemetery that is my backyard,

as a reminder that losing things,

can be a beautiful thing.

i paint the house the yellow i always wanted,

paint the door red, reminding myself i never even really liked blue.

i am not the house i wanted to be,

and that is okay.

i still love what i am anyways.