when i look at you, i see a house--no, a home. a place that is filled with warmth and family and security. i see a place with flaws throughout, but not enough to make me think less of it. the foundation is stable, but the walls need repainting and the floors swept. photos are hung up-- memories floating, plants are placed near the windows, growing. sometimes ill kick a chair or swear at the mirror. i make mistakes in that home, but it's a place to work, to love, to live. it's a place to raise my kids and have animals. it's fighting at 3 am and the next day making breakfast for each other with no words. there are rules in a home. and although they seem dumb they are boundaries; no shoes in the house, no phones at the table, meals are eaten together. it is meant to keep us connected, keep us trusting, keep us together.
you look at me like a shed. a place you use. a place to show status. a place that is not as important as a home. it is a place to store things, a place to go to when you have free time. it is a place to get away to, a place to use to get away from your issues or problems. but once those are no longer an issue, the shed sits there. you stuff the shed with things, like extra nuts and bolts of paper memories. on the paper, they read "I love you.", "I need you." "I respect you." and you shove them in the shed because there is no room in the house. those pages wither and fade, chewed by the rats. the lack of care makes them die. the wood starts to rot, you lie to yourself that it's not there, that it doesn't matter, until finally one day the woods drops, like the truth. you realize the damage it's done. you decide to try and fix it as you used to; drilling into it with nails to reinforce. but you need a different tactic because the wood is gone or rotted. but every day you hammer one more nail into the shed, ignoring the groans of the wood screaming that they can't take it anymore. if you had to choose between the house and the shed in which a tree would fall, it would be the shed. if you were out of money and needed food, you would sell the shed, not the house.
i look at you like a home
you look at me like a shed.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry~She was like a duck in the water. Frantically paddling and tense holding her balance, but still looking cool, calm, and collected on the outside...~ Beautiful book cover by one of my faves: @OrigamiNinja
