GloPoWriMo Day Eleven


Where I live

The building where I live

Is huge. Not the tallest of around,

But it's tall, of brick walls and glass.


When referring to it,

I told my classmate that I had my apartment around here,

Puzzled, she stared at me. 

"Not my aparment," I said. "My family's!"

We laughed. I was a little distracted

Looking through a window to a building similar to mine --

The colour of bricks against a clean sky,

The colour I can never get right when mixing paintings

But I still use it because no one will see my paintings

And call me a great artist, because I don't try to be.


I look up to it from below when I get home

The heavy pack below my back

But I'm so close to taking it all out.

So tall, so safe -- just like I like my men.

I like some jokes once in a while, but I'm

Not good at that. When I get home,

Walk through the plants and enter the mirrored hall,

On the elevator, then push its door,

My key to the locke, I unlock whatever that's there

In my family's apartment,

At a building of bricks and glass


I'm really not proud of this poem :c

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