Poetry for the Emotional Teenager

Shady House

Shady House

I can't quite remember

the time before I moved.

Not the exact shade of

purple my walls were-

maybe dark purple, lilac,

maybe as light as white.

I can't remember the

exact type of flooring-

was it tile? Wood?

Carpet? All of them?

What color was the

floor? Red? Grey?

Black? Brown?

One thing I know

that I remember for sure-

the neighborhood.

The neighborhood was

the shadiest group of

houses I've ever

encountered.

And so was the house.

I think. I can't

remember.