This House

A poem about trying to let people in, after it not going well previously.

I can open the door - so you can look inside,

But you can’t come in,

The place is a mess and I’m ashamed,

Their are skeletons in my closets - dirty laundry,

A mess of webs that I can’t reach,

Damage in the foundations,

Thick curtains block the light that’s out there with you,

The light you brought with you to give these rooms some air,

To show the good that may hide under this mess,

I'm sorry,

The last few visitors ruined the place,

I should of cleaned up after,

I tried,

It was easier to close the curtains,

Lock the door,

 

Bare plates and glasses half empty,

They used to be half full,

Dotted around the space in here,

You can’t come in,

I know I brought you to my door - and I opened it for you to see,

To welcome you in and to see my world,

But I can’t - I don’t know what I was thinking,

This place is a mess and I’m ashamed,

There is comfort in these rooms, 

But only enough for one,

Only me, 

I hope the view is nice enough out there,

I need to go back inside,

Lock myself in,

I don't need to see the good inside,

I just need you to not see this mess,

You can't come in.