bare walls and neat shelves,
this doesn't feel like home.
bed made and table clean,
this is not mine.
spotless floor and tidy closet,
this is an empty space.
inhabited,
yes,
but lived in,
no.
this is a hollow house,
spaces too large and hallways too wide.
i hunger for the cluttered corners and messed up couch cushions,
if it means that i can call this place my home.
YOU ARE READING
sonder
Poetry70 days of summer 70 poems of sonder (might also include a photo i took on the day of writing the poem)
