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A wise man once said, “A house divided against itself cannot stand,”

But my house is living proof that it can.

It is just a matter of time until the pounding wind blows down the walls, but still

After every storm we are fine; all seems calm.

Until the wind starts picking up again swirling the dust and leaves --

Contagious, how it spreads.

The foundation expects me to stand up tall on my own two feet

But how? 

How can I do so when the foundation itself crumbles beneath?

 

When I was younger I worried.

I was taught that the walls of your home were built to be sturdy,

So when I saw the house tremble and quake, and the roof coming down, flooding the floor, 

I was frightened.

Everything I loved and everything I knew would be swept away with this house.

Now as I’ve grown older, 

I‘ve come to realize that it was okay for a house to fall, to crumble. 

I became used to the destruction. 

These outbursts became natural and subtle.

The quakes became creeks and the floods became leaks; they don’t faze me anymore,

Or at least not on the outside.

Although the pounding wind hits harder on the outer walls, I still feel its force pushing upon me.

 

There is no way of knowing how long this house will stand, but I am sure that it is dividing.

The once bright paints, now dull, peel and flake.

Tiles are cracked and the light burns to a dim flicker.

I will eventually leave my home, 

but it will still stand as one or divided.

But it will stand…

at least in my heart