Forum Post: An amateur's poem

The More Humble, The More True

If you lived here you’d be home by now. It's where the heart is, not the safe, though it is safe.

People would fight to the death to stay here. They would clan together as a force greater than battalions.

It's either here or death. There are no other options like rent it out or level it or flip it for equity and investment for long term property value hikes.

It's where you hang your hat. Just one hat under which you labor not the nook in a walk-in

lined up with souvenir caps of sports teams and panamas and sun hats from Acapulco or golfing expeditions - barely a trace of light sweat and sun block.

The weightlessness of foreclosure makes it easy to fly down and snatch it up in your talons:

Are they nothing more than those green plastic game pieces, Monopoly deed cards?

If families in the top hat or shoe land on your Baltic Avenue the money is real to them.

These four walls with a roof, a place we grow into until they are positively bursting with love

not hash marks in a 30 year loan where a few missed payments are the difference between

a door step and the threshold to trespassing. Dollar signs don't make a good foundation.

These four walls with a roof don't make a good piggy bank. You can keep stuffing your money there forever and it'll still be the same yard strewn with weeds.

It'll be nothing more than a project of burst pipes and efficient upgrades, of shoving families out with their junk

who have a ridiculous love for this place which isn't even all that pretty and may take months to sell.

To you, it's a facade erected as a symbol of your social standing.

To us, there's no place like it. From there we track sweet across the world.