If this house is a book
Two adults pace the passages they carved with pens, editing.
Once glossy pages are dampened-
Anecdotes drip down the spine, stealing foundation and blockading
the heart of the story

If this house is a book
One day it will be censored by conformity
the motives changed
the meaning tainted
the saucy metaphors will be laced with normalcy and I will have to squint to live one letter at a time

If this house is a book
Two adults are fighting for authorship
black ink is blotting
cheap, archaic verbs
are dotting out perceptions that
had come out once as harmonic

If this house is a book
We do not believe that the princess gets her kiss
she dies, cold, the color fading from her cheeks and her last bit of hope is sliced swiftly,
fast through the artery.
Her last few lines draw blue blood.

If only this house were a book,
I could keep it locked away
So that in years many might scower the pages and note-

I'm glad my house is not a book.