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Dec 2014
I lay my red cheek heavily on the wooden walls that have enclosed some existence for... how long?
Planks upon planks of royalty- sliced apart to shelter me. Keeping me safe.
What kind of sound did you make when they cut you down? Did others see? Did you hear their hearts break as you thudded into the ground? Were you proud?
To lose your crown.
And now you're holding your place, as a families base in some nowhere tiny town.
So tell me, What have you seen here?
You freckled knotted wood!
You can trust me, you can tell me!
As I sleep- whisper into my dreams.
Your gorgeous and solemn,
your dead silence makes me angry.
My little red cheek blushes even harder at your hollow absence.
Are your secrets trapped forever behind your once so stoic posture?
And if your secrets are lost, can I whisper you mine?
Will you keep them hidden in your history? Add them to your rings?
Remnants of who you were stare back at me.
I guess you could say the same.
You have heard my secrets.
You do hear my cries.
When it's 3 am and the weight of my sorrows is too much for my shoulders, and your floor boards creak, just like you could speak.
You know that sometimes our shelves need dusting.
You offer me a place to whisper more grey matter into the air,
still hoping to lure you out of silence.
It's not fair that you know so much more about my soul.
Could you please tell me what I'm going to sound like when I come thudding down?
Your secrets are too deep.
So I'm left with my little red cheek anxiously pressed against your wooden walls.
bekka walker
Written by
bekka walker  LA
   ---, tabitha and ---
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