The Old House

National Poetry Month is over but the poems keep flowin'

The old house

 

We lived in an old house

And I remember

Turning in the rooms 

Where the corners came too soon 

Old house, old stories 

Shaped us for new nightmares

I became my darkest self there

In the peach room

I sometimes kept 

Both phones to myself

Afraid of who would listen in

To the riveting discourse

Of innocent teen love

Ended when church came second

I was disb…