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Poetry

A Conversation With My Door

I have a conversation with my door,

Whether we want to have it or not.

It is one we have had before,

And it’s one we will have a lot.

I really never start it,

The door always does.

Every time, it asks me to quit

The staring at it because

I let a giggle loose,

Or maybe a sound of despair.

And I am no social recluse,

But I like to be alone, to be fair.

So when I’m watching kitsch things,

Or maybe looking at a book,

My ears create footsteps coming

And I tense for the door to unhook.

I don’t know why I feel this way

(And neither does the door).

But it asks me to look away

And avert my eyes to the floor

Who knows why I’m embarrassed

To emote in my own room

Because at the very barest

It’s a safe place, not a tomb.

I’d like to make a vow

From starting this day on:

I promise to laugh allowed

And sigh the sighs forgone.

For there are only things as small to fear

Behind the face of my door

Than a blush that warms my ears

Or losing what was felt before.

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