The Skewed Roof

A crooked roof, blue crayon smudged on the edge,

doors too big, windows that won’t stay square.

Lines that leap like they’re trying to escape,

colors where walls should be, wild and bare.

She draws a sun with a frown,

and a tree that spills across the page,

branches tangled like the stories she hasn’t told,

dark shadows pressed behind each careless stroke.

This house is not where you live,

but where you dream awake,

and the cracks between the walls hold all the words

that don’t fit.