dust constantly collected
on the windowsills 
and in the corners 
of the room, but
i liked that because 
i always knew where to find it. 

a firm
mattress was my muse, 
pulling words like taffy

pulling poetry that left
a sweetness on my tongue

and a purpose almost as
defined,
as solid, as sturdy
as the walls.

this was home home until

i grew too big and my limbs
tore down the frame.

all that remains:
my body, full of splinters 
and a yearning

for the way
the sleepy sun shone
through the windows.