That House

In that house is where my innocence lies;

where the innocent me died

giving rise to the me that i've become.

The me that works overtime comparing and contrasting the prior me to the present me searching for the differences and similarities,

but all I find are pieces-broken.

That house holds the secrets of my past;

segmented secrets that my heart yearns for;

wanting to connect the dots of my secrets held captive by the mute, unkind walls of that house

to the present dying me, until the little pieces transend one art form to another;

from collage

to poetry

to story.

That house on a corner in an unfamiliar place made familiar by my secrets held

has my eyes fixed on it

circumferencing it with each glance I take;

hoping to see the little pieces of my past waving;

screaming;

looking out for the present me;

wanting to make the connection too.

That house has my mind in overdrive from my wanting to reclaim impossibility;

from my wanting to reclaim the innocent me.

That house in an unfamiliar place made familiar by my secrets held - has stolen the prior me,

leaving the present me dead!