Pitched pink roof that doesn’t meet in the middle

everyone likes it best
when my poems make sense
so you know where I am
the dog-eared page of
      so your dad's a reverend huh

trying to be unseen
in a dark attic on the newest floor
of my biography

my mansion fading into
hunched shoulders
and a hump at the bottom of my neck
in front of my computer

imagining the traits of others
that glow against my darkness
as in where do you find the time
to be legible?