20/06/2025
Everywhere I’ve Lived
(for the boy in the tree)
When I built my first treehouse
to escape the noise below,
I didn’t know I was sketching
the blueprint of my life.
Wood and wind were my walls.
Silence, my ceiling.
A floor just strong enough
to hold a child’s need to feel safe.
Since then,
each place I’ve lived
has been a more elaborate treehouse—
more square feet, more grown-up names,
but always perched above something
I could not live beneath.
I have never sought shelter.
I have built sanctuaries.
And if they call them townhouses now,
or rentals, or hideouts—
they are still just treehouses
with plumbing and rent.
Still just branches
where I whisper to God
and wait for the wind
to tell me I’m safe.