moving rooms

dead people in the closet
sick people in the bedroom
old bright pink dreamcatchers
bright new floors of pine wood

papers and dreams
scribblings, messages
and things that I can't get rid of
had drowned me

I cannot get rid of
whatever makes me sad
I can't get rid of the past
because the house is here to hunt

you can break it,
tear it, fix it,
build it from scratch
but just like the cat

                               it's kicking me out