House

Every man is a house
And in that house
Is he
He can walk around the house
And he knows that it is he

But one day he'll realize
There are many rooms in that house
One too many for one person
Not all rooms are completely he
Not really

The walls, the furniture, the tiles all him,
But the bricks, the wood, the ceramic
Someone else entirely
Sometimes it's the father, the mother
The awful neighbors, strangers,
People who died in the 60s
And things he saw on TV

There were some rooms he did not like
Some rooms he'd never open
Some rooms he'd wonder why they exist
And others he's ashamed of really

How much of the house was he really?
He started doubting,
When you tear down the wallpapers
Was that house really his?

For you see this house has no contractor
No real estate agent no landlady or lord
It's an ever building house
It knows only how to grow
And it will grow

The house is a mosaic
Each piece a you
Each piece a you,
That you found in others.
Each piece a book you read
Each piece a kiss you shared
Each piece a poem you never finished.

Let that house grow,
Far beyond what you can manage
Let that house grow,
To whatever it wants to grow into
Make sure along the way,
There are rooms that you love
And rooms that love to keep you.