My tick

the drawer in my kitchen with no knob that to open you have to curl your fingers under and pray you don’t get a splinter

my little sister’s footsteps as she sneaks into my room to borrow something... again

the awful sound of our old lawn mower

tick tick tick

the whirling sound our upstairs toilet makes every half hour even though according to my mother “it’s all good”

the creaks in the staircase that make it almost impossible to go anywhere without being heard

the picture frame hanging above the mantle that is just slightly crooked

tick tick tick tick

the pile of stuff that has just sort of accumulated on the front table that no one wants to take the time to organize

the excessive number of shoes that sit in our mud room, waiting to be tripped on

tick tick tick tick tick

it’s a mess

a god damn mess

everything about it makes me tick

but it’s home

the drawer, the footsteps, the whirling and creaking

tick tick tick

the picture, the piles, the shoes

tick tick

it’s my home

and it’s my tick