Painted Rooms

Painted Rooms

We live in painted rooms; different, yet the same.

Paint to hide our sorrows, paint to hide our pain.

Covering our truth, covering the shame,

Painting away at the past, covering its remains.

But still it bleeds through.

Hoping to conceal our scars, the colors that we choose,

The pigments that will hide our hurt, the stains that mask abuse.

We believe that we can dull the blame,

Behind a simple coat of paint.

All the years we suffered they try to silence using caulk.

They fill the cracks and seams so the walls can never talk.

We cover up the writing until the words are faint.

Afraid of what would be if they spoke with no restraint.

We continue trying to shield ourselves,

Behind a simple coat of paint.

Just Crying Over Me

I sit upon a lonely bed

and mourn a body not yet dead.

I mourn a heart that does still beat.

But not quite the same as those I meet.

I mourn a soul that is not lost,

but can't be won at any cost.

I mourn the bones that crack and ache

it makes some days so hard to take.

I mourn procrastinations will

that keeps me always standing still.

I mourn the eyes that sometimes hide

the fears lurking deep inside.

I mourn the mouth that lets me speak

before I've had the time to think.

I mourn this body through shed tears,

I'm older than my 30 years.