Between two hazel-curtained œil-de-bœufs,

beneath a sturdy skull of a roof, 

resides a youthful hermit, lone,

who’s built of neurons, not of bone. 

 

My foundation was laid firm at birth,

but interior design required a learning curve.  

Dark thoughts once lined my walls with sharp teeth;

now I’ve saved myself with gentle love – their sheath. 

 

I warmed that lonely space with wit and laughter;

sometimes brewed storms, but always cleaned up after. 

And I hung up words about myself:

what I loved and what needed help. 

 

I redesigned a self-made hell! 

After all, it’s here I will forever dwell.