A House Full of Books

                                                                                              A house caked in paper:
                                                                                        Where I live during the day,
                                                                                                And well into the night.
                                                             Screaming out my lies and sins and principles
                                                                                                 For that world to hear.
                                                                             Because sometimes it’s just easier:
                                                              To look for the way in rather than a way out,
                                                                          To look out of the black ink windows,
                                                                    And hide behind curtains of prepositions.

                                                                                             I don’t always hide here.
                                                                                   Just when I miss you too much;
                                                                     And when the world bends out of shape
                                          And expects me to bend my spine into impossible curves.

                                                                        Sometimes I just want to shut you up.
                                                                          But sometimes that just isn’t enough
                                                                        To make me stop hearing your words;
                                                        Saved to hard drives and committed to memory:
                                                                                                        Ever to haunt me.
                                                                                                        The binary words,
                                                                                                                 Clear as ink,
                                                                            Written for the mathematician in me
                                                         Who can’t understand functions to save her life.

                                                                               Reading other ASCII combinations
                                                                                    Transcribed into ink on a page.
                                                                Quotations in a rough hand in a small book
                                                                                            Where the small me lives,
                                                                                  Under a roof of glue and leather
                                                                                      With strings binding the walls
                                                                                            And words form furniture,
                                                                        And binary blooms die along the path,
                                                                                                         And lie forgotten,
                                                                                     In hard drives and bookcases.

                                                                                                    Written in synapses.
                                                                                                             Saved in .docs.
                                                     Because I’ll never forget what I never understood.
                                                                                When I wanted to run from them
                                                                       And came to a dead stop at your door,
                                                                                                     And you took me in.
                                                                                 But the lectures left me hanging,
                                                                                            And so I left you hanging.

                                                                             Because sometimes it’s just easier;
                                                                             To remember the sayings of others
                                                                                             Than to argue for myself.
                                                                              So, I’ll live in a house full of books,
                                          And maybe I’ll fall in love with a Prince Charming of verbs.
                                                                         But I hope I never see the world end:
                                                                                   Because reality still charms me.