So here it is:
IF WALLS COULD SPEAK…
I sit here in the open, yet tangled with vines… encumbered with shrubs. It's dark inside me…filthy-I'm crawling with rodents and insects in places I did not know I had.
I used to be admired, adored, lived in. In a moment a tantrum arose within me- my loved ones ran out, scared of my flames. They cried and the fire went away with their tears.
Dusty and Broken, charred and dark, moldy and rusted, I'm falling apart.
I still see my surroundings, paired with the memories of yesterday… the muddy sand box and the boy who played in it. The tree swing and the girl who fell off of it. Children playing games in the barn, or jumping off the hay stacks. When part of my door broke off and dad re-attached and painted me yellow again. He hummed to me.
Dusty and broken, charred and dark, moldy and rusted I'm falling apart.
I still get visitors, coming from my dirt road, I see them come and I try to stand proud. They take pictures of me, and make me stay still. They go around me and gaze at my ugliness- somehow they still find beauty in my brokenness.
When it turns dark I stay here listening to the sounds of rustling leaves, creaking wood, creatures large and small… Dusty and broken, charred and dark, moldy and rusted, I'm falling apart.
(This is the picture she sketched to go along with her poem.)
Hoping life is cherry and that you have a blessed night! ~Jen