I was born with a soul
splintered between the above
and below
as if the blueprint lacked cohesion,
never marrying the whole.
Crooked be the frame,
only good for load-bearing shame,
nails driven rusted, sideways,
only the hammerer to blame.
I let the world lathe my edges,
until I was sanded smooth "enough"
those who wanted to reach out and touch
only left me hollow;
a cabinet no one dares to open,
shelves empty, never stocked with love.
They say measure twice
cut once
so why don't I fit
ramshackle,
rustic,
raw,
... can anyone really
love
the sawdust?
I am it.
About the Creator
Ellie Hoovs
Breathing life into the lost and broken. Writes to mend what fire couldn't destroy. Poetry stitched from ashes, longing, and stubborn hope.
My Poetry Collection DEMORTALIZING is out now!!!: https://a.co/d/5fqwmEb
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Comments (4)
I love the metaphor you created with this, it is so thought-provoking. As someone who salvages and upcycles things, I say yes. very lovable. 💗
Well-wrought!
This was a great take on the prompt
Excellently evoked, Ellie. Again, with the line at the end which packs the punch.