The Bright, Warm, Yellow Plate

I recall loving you once. 

I can remember the thoughts, 

the longing for each other's minds. 

See, I feel this inconsequential need to put this into a metaphor,

because although the bare bone language that I would speak to my sister

conveys the emotion,

my own demonstrates so much more.

Although I know that you, my friend, 

will always perfer the naked truth 

because you do not yet know to hide behind words as I do.

Well, in truth,

I don't necesarily cover myself in words as a disguise,

but rather I use them as a blanket to stop the glacier in my chest from fully forming.

But as I would in the sleep that I spend in my sea of thoughts,

I hog the blanket with the tenacity that I push you further with.

I suppose I found how I'm selfish.

I've been searching for it for so long that

I had nearly forgotten that it could exist- my selfishness. 

I've been hiding myself as the spider that lives in my kitchen does. 

His existance isn't necessarily clean-cut, 

and he knows that the plate hanging on the wall

will someday be moved for a special occassion. 

He fears the change,

but becomes acutely aware that it's an evil that he cannot live without any longer. 

His family was severed with the bang of a shoe

and a smear that he mimicks with a leg to wipe tears that

he shouldn't have had to conceal. 

But he continues on anyway,

cautiously carousing through the cracks of the wall that

he focused on so intently that he seemed to not matter as much. 

With all eight eyes no amount of water will be able to wash the events from his mind. 

So he dwells behind the contrary-to-his-own-self warm, yellow plate. 

He now knows in his old age that he doesn't need to stare at those cracks in the wall,

simply because they are the consistency that he is yet to reach.

The weary eyes have seen to much by now,

and he is glad to shut them for once.

Never too long,

but it's alright to take the rest and when he is long done,

he can find a different home outside with the spring,

My kitchen never served him as a proper home,

and now he has allotted himself that knowledge and he can crawl through an open window,

for the weeping willow tree outside holds promise.

He will discover all of them with time and make sure that they are kept,

because while such a sad tree provides shade,

the nips of light peering through are well earned, and will be most appreciated. 

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.