The Wall

Written in 2014.

I am the wall.
I stand on the outer edge.
I contain much some days.
Other days, I am empty.
Many people like to label me,
Pin their pictures to me,
Make me look how they want.
Honestly, I don’t mind.
My blemishes are covered.
That hole that’s been there years
Is covered by the paintings.
As long as only one layer is tacked,
Nothing falls, nothing slips.
The outer layers of posters and pictures
Tend to fall first,
Revealing the crumbling newsletters,
Pictures, and posters from years past.
When someone new sees me,
They either tack something on
Or clear me off;
Rearrange to cover my holes,
My dings and dents,
The places where paint has peeled,
And furniture has scuffed.
And honestly, I don’t mind.

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