i wake under canvas that does not keep
the noise away
it breathes with the wind
but never quite with me
i have learned to hold still
when the seams shiver
to pretend this thin skin
is shelter enough
though i know it is not
houses built with straight lines
and sharper words
call themselves permanent
yet their floors tilt
their walls lean
truth there is poured shallow
and cracks before the paint dries
so i am here
exiled by honesty
rooted in a structure that folds with a sigh
every time the weight of the world
remembers me
they say
there is a city not made by hands
a place where stone does not betray
but that promise
is always tomorrow
always horizon
and today feels longer than it should
today
i am nothing but a tent collapsed
fabric heavy against my chest
ropes tangled like accusations
stakes loosened by invisible hands
and still i breathe
waiting
not for comfort
but for the wind to lift me
to show that even canvas
can rise