I thought my house belonged to me,
But the things we build we never keep.
The objects we hold mighty close
Are seldom things we come to own.
I thought cause I had laid the brick,
I might’ve owned my home.
Because I’d planted thyme and basil,
I might reap what I’d sown.
Placing crystal chandeliers on high
Just to balance out the lows,
Stringing garments on the line
Just to dry out all my woes.
Because I had smoothed cement,
It would one day prop me up.
If I trapped my sorrow in the attic,
It might just remain shut.
I put shutters over windows,
Thinking they’d admit no rain–
But the pain, the rain, the damn disdain
Got in here just the same.
I bought the locks and keys,
The welcome mats and wreaths,
Thinking if the food was hot
The guests would always come to eat.
Silly me, silly me!
I even went and hinged those doors.
Thinking to myself “Every man who walks through these shall be forever yours.”
And if I trimmed the lawn,
It would remain sturdy beneath my feet,
Instead of washing into muddy earth
Like promises unkeeped…
Like beds made unkept.
If I tunneled my own backyard streams
They might funnel all the tears that I had wept.
How quickly I forget,
What disaster I had met,
When my house went and turned its back on me,
And came to lock me out,
With my suitcase full of pretty clothes,
And my wallets full of doubt.
But I paid for this!
I signed the deed!
This house… it must be mine!
With all the carpets I done cleaned,
And all the mirrors I done shined.
Not only did I pay the mortgage,
And pen all these contracts,
I got dust under my nails,
And I got nails all in my back.
You telling me I must make a bed in all this lonely
I must occupy this strange?
That I only have my body now?
Just my pride and my last name?
If I known you would’ve stole my stuff,
Left my flowers there to wilt,
It’s me I would’ve locked and keyed,
It’s myself I should’ve built.
Took my sorrow out my attic,
My own doubt and dusty panic,
Held my pain before those shiny mirrors,
And tried to understand it.
I would’ve used these knees to pray to God
Instead of shining floors,
Turned away every worthless lover
Who passed through those hinged doors.
Instead of stirring pots of honey,
I should’ve kept my own heart sweet.
Should’ve known this flimsy house
Was never mine to keep.
It is this body that’s worth holding
From here I cannot be evicted
If I hold up my own spine and stand in my convictions,
Fiercely guard my magic, and known that love is my mine to give,
Maybe if I did all that, I’d have some place to live!
I thought my house belonged to me,
But the things we build we never keep.
The objects we hold mighty close
Are seldom things we come to own.