Poet

Thoughts Of A Disturbed Poet
2001-12-14 06:29:52 (UTC)

Of Graffiti Walls And Memories

There is a wall in our basement that my sister and I
scribbled on with felt-tip markers growing up. We used to
call it our Graffiti Wall, and appropriately so -
Everything from phone numbers to tic-tac-toe found it痴 way
onto that wall. Dad got tired of looking at it a few years
back, and covered it with white paint. Our wall would not
be conquered! Still to this day, the colored markings show
through to the surface of the paint. I will miss that wall.

I will miss the piece of wood in the basement where we
marked our heights growing up... The pink stain on the
carpet upstairs where I spilled a bottle of Pepto Bismol as
a child... The concrete floor of the basement where we
spent many summer afternoons roller-skating... The two Ash
trees and little Pine tree we lovingly planted in the
backyard... The old wagon wheel that has leaned against the
side of the house for as long as I can remember...

I will miss knowing who is walking down the stairs by
listening to the way they creak... The ice maker humming in
the middle of the night...

I have spent a large portion of my night packing. I am
moving across town in less than three weeks, and although I
am looking forward to the move, I will miss the house I
grew up in. Dad is retiring in January, and he and Mom will
eventually sell this house and move somewhere else. It is
so sad... Every picture I take down, every nail I remove
from the wall, every item I place in a box... Will never
reside in this house again.

Yes, I will miss this house.... But my future looks bright.
And my memories are like our Graffiti Wall... No mater how
much paint tries to cover them up... They will always show
through to the surface.

Back to packing!

Love... Poet




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