Attic.

I looked in mirrors deep-

Found myself in cobwebbed enemies, 

I held my hand out in admiration.

Of their colors.

Of their authenticity.

I am not whole without them.

They are the pure part of this body,

They are the basement voices, 

The ones that I keep in mind-

When I find too much sky,

You

Must

Never

Forget

The basement voices,

Hold them in a fold of your heart.

Feed them rarely

But, feed them-

Just to sleep at night,

Just so that when company comes-

They don’t do cartwheels on your good carpet.

Just so you can make it.

Just to make them feel seen.

Because, even the scary things-

Fear being left alone for too long.