March 8, 2022
This is not cleaning
My house
This is not sorting clothes
From past seasons and styles
Into bags to give away
This is seeing myself
Worthy of being seen
In clothes that fit
Who I am becoming
This is not dragging boxes
Down from the attic
And out of cluttered closets
This is making space
For things I want now
This is not choosing paint
And filing the cracks
In the living room walls
This is saying yes
To the child who stared at white walls
And never had permission
To be purple or blue or green
welcoming all the colors and light
All the things I love
without apology
Art I will make
Without permission
This is not choosing a backsplash
To hide the crumbling drywall
Behind the stove
This is dreaming of meals
With laughter and old stories
And too much garlic
This is not pulling up the carpet
And tossing all the clutter
To lay new flooring
This is taking measurements
Of what will stand
On a new foundation
Tearing out the things
I’ve lost myself in hiding
Behind scented candles
And photos cropped just so
This is not cleaning my house
This is writing a story
About who
I want to be
When I am
what I call home
