This is what it feels like to be furniture.
Doors open and close.
I am here,
Silent, eyes open, unmoving
Only the steady rise and fall
Separates me
From the inanimate crap cluttering our house.

This is what it feels like to be furniture.
You see the back of my head
I try to keep myself steady
I hear you turn around
And walk away.
You have better things to do
Than ask why I’m not speaking to you again.

This is what it feels like to be furniture. *
You mention absently that
We need new couches,
You don’t want to continue trying,
And that the toilet needs to be fixed.
I can’t be bothered to fight with you,
After all, the couch isn't objecting to you throwing it away.

I hate you with a passion. I hate that I bump into you in the hallways and how i always jam my toe on the side of you, on
your slick lean edges. Along with the time you hid my favorite shirt from me in your stash of collections, where you keep my
notes in your drawer of secrets. Don't let anyone in, close yourself up just like furniture you are. Silence thats all anyone
hears when they walk by you but not me. I can hear your legs creaking trying to keep you up, strong and tall like how you
should be. My mother wants to throw you away but i won't let her. She wants to replace you with a nice cherry wood drawer. But not me. I still adore your creaking legs, and your rusty knobs. I won't let her throw you away, i forgive you for all the splinters you gave me on my feet. I just want you to stay.


sincerly,  

               Angelica♡