How To Write Poems like A Broken Person

Thief

I've been robbed. Robbed of the way my hallway curved around my body. It isn't mine anymore. They took the walls that used to hold my voice when I sang at night and filled them with old records and the smell of Marijuana. They took the echo from my heels away for there are far to many book shelves and tables with his shit on them to hear how I used to walk. His son sleeps in the room my parents broke my heart in. He will never know the ghosts that haunt those walls. He will never understand that my first drunken stumble came through that door way or that the echos from my TV hid my crying because that room is so very small. He will never learn to appreciate the way my windows bang In the wind they are not your annoyance they were my reminder that the world outside was waiting for me that the walls could not contain me
They will hear the pipes bang and contract and will eventually become numb to it. Those were my salvation those were the heat that kept me warm on nights where I was left so bitterly alone. He will cover my old nail indents with posters but lest the walls never forget the way I clung onto them for dear life when the world's weight tried to break me. I left handprints on that house that can never be painted over. Left crayon marks on tiles. Blood stains on mirrors. I leave a ghost who's name I will never know but face I will never forget treat him with respect or he shall give you hell. Let your presence be a constant reminder of the shell I leave of my skin. It's not mine anymore you can have it. May it bring you comfort. I always believed in you. So. To the man who took not only my house away but the life I leave behind. I hope you know that while that house may never be mine again it will never truly be yours.