The bones of my house are swelling. I hear them creaking through the drywall. If it all caves in, I’m sure I’ll manage to stay standing. We are fighting thoughts that tell us to sleep forever- and it’s so tempting when I bury myself in rituals that help me sink deeper.

Lately I’ve been throwing my fists through mirrors. Feel the knots in my hair reach through my scalp and sink to my brain. Drench my eyes in water so they stop stinging. Yelling back at the reflection for not doing better – I guess I’m just poisoning myself again. And that’s what happens when you eat your thoughts, especially the bad ones.

This place is all encompassing. It feeds me in every season. I break like fine China, but bite like a rattlesnake. I see my words dangle from everyone’s fingertips and watch the pages burn. I dig my heels into the dirt and plant myself like a statue until they crack the precious stone. And when I put all this together I find my spirit. Building each piece of myself until the structure stands and stretches it’s arms- tells the town, “this is a castle and you’ll have to bury me here before I let you drag me away.”

Last night I tried to sleep in the attic. Felt the rain dig it’s claws at the paned window. Heard creaking in the ceiling as it reverberated through the walls, then the floorboard. Listened to the same old sigh in the breeze. The bones of this house are swelling again. AMT