Talking to these walls
A wounded solider
Dirt and tears streak my face
I am Angry
I am Hurt
Bleeding on the inside a unusual flow
Only allowing these walls to see my pain
I would rather die
Than to let you see
My pain
Someone once said they would strip the paint from my walls
I laughed because the coating is so thick it's impossible
Did they really expect to see the blood on my walls
To smell the saltiness of my tears
To see the blackened parts from the mental and physical abuse
This isn't a pity party
So saver your "poor her"
I'm just a lost soul searching for a savior
These walls understand me
Once the dry wall is set into place
The plaster is added
And then the paint is applied
I use the same color
No one will ever see
The many times I have repainted burying the hurt with ever stroke of my brush
Staying consistent is the key
Sometimes I miss a spot
And theirs always a foolish person
Thinking I wouldn't have a Plan B
In between the chipped paint I draw pictures
Only allowing them to see what I want them to see
So go ahead take a Peek
You must be registered to leave a comment. Registration is FREE.