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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Housesdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: ollie_wicked
    ASL Info:    27?FEarth
    Elite Ratio:    4.02 - 320/200/90
    Words: 128
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 585
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 893



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsHousesdots
    -------------------------------------------


    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
    joy.

    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.




    Submitted on 2013-03-20 01:50:59     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      okay. here i am potentially reading much too much into this piece. and it is all hinged around the word familial...

    my step mother's mother's home is for sale. her mother has been dead for a very long time now. the house that is for sale is the house my step mother grew up in. so she had to go and have a look through the house.. for sentimental reasons i guess.

    just yesterday i was flicking through the property press [ a paper full of houses for sale] and i didnt even see the front of the house but rather the view from the kitchen window and knew straight away that it was the house. as children we were only allowed in the kitchen. i have no good memories about that house and yet my step mother does.

    i guess thats how life goes.

    in this piece i cannot help but think of domestic abuse to a varying degree with the mention of skin colour and beige being healthy... purple and blue not so much.
    and i think of the song 'my name is luka' when she says "yes i think im okay.. walked into the door again..." and parallel it, maybe wrongly, to the opening of the garage door.

    but yes.. in years to come there will be happiness found somewhere in all of this. whether its the baking that came from the kitchen or the back garden where we found all the treasure...

    anyways... i totally accept i am potentially way off base with my reading of this piece but thats where my mind went as i read it...

    hope thats okay
    | Posted on 2013-03-22 00:00:00 | by impossiblyme | [ Reply to This ]
      Did you just discover the site and decide to upload everything? If so, good idea :) Was familial intentional or was it supposed to be familiar? I think someone else is always necessary, inspite of what we want; learning to accept that is what really makes us shape ourselves. I love the last stanza. You're good!
    | Posted on 2013-03-22 00:00:00 | by strike three | [ Reply to This ]


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