I am an abandoned home consumed by ivy and weeds. Hidden in plain sight, yet I rarely feel seen. All the windows where light used to shine in their beams, are now boarded up.
No light can come in and I can’t let light out. This home is mine, but I feel trapped with myself. I can’t figure this out. Some people come near, every now and then. But if I can’t be a home for myself, what chance do I stand?
When someone new comes close I feel the ivy retreat, maybe this time they'll notice my white flag in defeat, But they just take pictures. Look around at what once was. Seems like this is what everyone does.
I’m never what they’re looking for. At least not for longer than a moment. I want to finally end this cycle of torment. If I can’t be a home for even myself, what chance do I stand of housing anyone else? And here comes the ivy again.
All the cracks of old floor boards. All the shifting brick. Begging for ears to hear I exist. Sometimes our eyes meet, as I peek through the cracks. But they just come and go. They never look back. And here comes the ivy again.