My Little Cottage


Allow me to lock the door
place a key under the mat
you'll know nothing of my little lies--
skeletons buried deep beneath the floorboards
dents and discoloration covered with
perfected shades of paint--
not because I'm ashamed.
I'm not.

I love my little cottage
hidden deep within the woods
I love my jars of marmalade,
long walks to get buckets of water,
leaky sinks and little rooms.

I am not ashamed,
I am afraid.

Afraid that you will burn yourself on my wooden stove
prick your fingers on pretty flowers,
grow sick of my leaky faucets
or tired of never-ending routines.
I have made myself comfortable in my mess
but I am not quite sure you will, too.

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