i am the door...
that you leave slightly ajar
in your comings and goings
in an effort to find out who you are

i am the wall...
feel free to stare at me blankly
or if you have greater need
you're more than welcome to climb me

i am the table...
for you to lay it all out
or if you prefer to wine and dine
in this riddle of doubt

i am the drawer...
you hold all your secrets in
your poetry and diary
of who you now are and who you have been

i am the bed...
your afraid to peek underneath
but still with enough comfort
to give you your much needed sleep

i am the window...
that opens into your soul
telling you what you want
and what you don't want to know

i am the floor...
where it all gets swept
into that lonely corner
with the rest of your mess

No doubt it is our existence, thoughts, feelings that give rise to language. What we fail to notice is that many a time, we experience utter relief, or are thrilled on discovering a word that mirrors how you felt at a certain time, a meaning you relate to. And many a time, the relief also comes from a feeling of ‘normalcy’. ‘Normal’ enough to know that someone, somewhere, felt the same way some time, and the feeling was deemed important, common, sane enough to be granted admission to the dictionary.