I Was A Yellow House

I feel the ache growing again,

Tossing stones at my barely patched windows;

The cold negative voice screams lie after truth after lie,

And so the glass shatters, letting in the wind and the rain.

My house once was lovely,

With bright yellow shutters,

And a meadow of bright flowers

Welcoming all who came to me;

But now the shutters are broken,

The other half barred shut,

Because the words of the world

Are beating down my sunny disposition.

Still, I work to keep the house beautiful, though,

But every time I fix the outside, something seems to break inside;

Even as paint peels away,

I must choose between judgment or feeling utterly low.

The outside may be in tatters,

But inside you’ll see the truth,

Golden flowers bloom in brightly colored vases,

And each room is filled with a warm light that scatters.

I’m so warm and safe in these yellow painted walls,

So tired of rebuilding the pretty outer surface,

The one that others seem to care so much about,

That it’s easy to stay hidden instead of answering their calls.

The flowers outside bloom brighter now,

Even when bouquets are taken daily from my garden,

The more I fix things inside my lovely yellow house,

The more flowers there are for others to borrow as much of my brightness as I can allow.

I live in a house filled with yellow,

Offering warmth and brightness to all who call,

Even when I’m feeling exhausted or lost,

I know my purpose is greater than my momentary sorrow