Life is torn from a familial place to be shaped
molded into what someone else wants.
It is sanded, it is still gathering nutrients,
and it is now brought forth transformed.
Color is drowning the outer walls.
Purple is not suitable.
Blue even less.
Everyone just loves beige.
Means you're healthy.
Marks will be left outside of life.
Where someone forgot to open
the garage, or closed it too soon.
Where someone was too careless,
throwing stones through glass.
Shattering, crashing, and broken.
But with every mark, every
glimmer of pain was once
We pay to see old houses.
They bring us back to that place.
A place where we forgot the wood
and the choice of paint.
Just remembering the joy.