the rooms

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they stay with me, in their own ways

no matter how hard I try

to reach inside myself and tear them away

bleach them out

burn them off

 

they stay with me, a part of me

the rough walled room that pried me open, made me old before I was young

it stays hidden for the most part, it's colored murals hidden away behind a dark curtain

 

the room with one wall, made of planks, suspended above the rest

where it was spoken

rests peacefully, he can stay

 

the orange tiled room, holds so much, good and bad

I am still working on making peace with this one

 

all the others, little prisons

all keeping parts of me from myself

I do not know if I want them back, probably not

 

just take them please






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