top of page


Updated: Mar 26

I pour my heart into this foundation,

cementing it into the world.

I lay my life down,

love by love and loss by loss.

Sooner or later, there’s a house.

A small house, compact and perfect for just me.

It has four walls and a roof.

Is it a house? A house it is!

As time passes, I realize that I had forgotten windows.

Nobody can see in, and I can’t see out.

But what’s the purpose of a window anyway?

Light is everywhere; lock the doors and go on with your life.

One day, I walked through this little house of mine.

I dragged my feet through my small residence,

marking the hardwood floors.

But my house is no place for a pair of dirty trainers or scuffed planks.

I swing open a cabinet door,

scrambling through the mess bolted to my walls.

I reach for something as the lights go out,

darkness infusing the vicinity.

I reach to open the door,

searching for the rusty handle with my fingers.

I push down, aiming to swing the plank open,

but the door stays in place,

refusing to budge.

I channel my focus into escaping,

seeking whatever is outside these four walls