poetry critical

online poetry workshop


in hollowed walls with dried paint is
nothing of past, of present, and future blames,
paints held on, on like repressed feelings
where places and paces flake once held meaning,
lying behind stages of condemnation,
and chalk outlines our imaginations,
exacerbating the low to impossible,
and eviscerate my staggering voice right out of me…
but as I scratch the paint it peals,
groves that I can finally feel and reseal,
I’m reminded of what is real,
a lesson learned a another lesson healed,
so up and start again, because these walls
hold up new meaning, brushes brush and dips dip themselves,
so go on, and make yourself vulnerable,
change the colors of your room

7 Aug 09

(define the words in this poem)

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