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Kat Aug 28
What if there's a door that's always sitting there.
The surface is bare.
And it carries a mysterious air.
No matter what people do to the door that just sits there.
The next morning the door is always repaired.

Something so curious like the door.
Everyone finds it a bore.
After all it's just a boring old door.
After seeing the damage disappear you would think people would write lore.
But the door isn't interesting, the door is a bore.

The door's been places.
The door has guarded libraries full of bookcases.
The door has seen everything from schools to fireplaces.

Whenever the place, the door has been goes away,
the door is always there insistent to stay.
But eventually the door gets found and gets transported away.

The door doesn't change.
The door is always a door but no one thinks it's strange.
But the door moves from place to place.
No one knows where or which door frame the door will choose as a base.
Antonyme Apr 4
Hearts are like Doors,
Once they are opened,
they can never close.
#love #life #happyness
L Oct 9
They say they love you.
And they care about you.
And that theyre there for you.

And. Thats supposed to feel good. Its supposed to feel nice.
Be nice.

But honestly.
It just makes me feel nervous.
Uneasy.
Apprehension and suspicion grip me.

They shake me.

And yet at the same time, mostly,
I feel apathy.
Nothing
As if your words were as grains of sand to my beach.
As if they were the folds of some drapery
That i depicted in my sketching class.
Singularly, it is so insignificance to me.
And maybe thats where im going wrong. Looking for beauty and solidity in pebbles and ripples.
It all. Means something. Everything. But.
It all means nothing.
Theyre just words.

And whos to say youre even real.

Wait.
Am i even real.
..and now i cant ******* close them.
I spend my life walking through darkness
Seemingly countless years go by as
I never see a hint of light

I begin thinking
Is there anything here?
Am I truly alone in this abyss?

What if there's something,
Hidden, invisible to my eyes?
What if I'm not alone?

"It's all too much
I'm giving up,
This dark is not for me"
These are the thoughts I thought,
The feelings I felt,
Before I saw the door.

Grand, regal, shining bright
The door swung wide, welcoming me
I run towards it, relief and hope filling me once again

I barely get through the door,
When I am cast back out,
And it slams shut again

I am confused,
What happened?
Why did it happen?
What could I have done to avoid this?

I see another door
Simple, wooden, open also
With nowhere else to go, I proceed through this door

It's nice on the other side
A field of green, pleasant music
I feel happy here

A short while later,
I hear a thump
Has the grand door reopened?

I hesitate
I am happy here,
If I head back, what if this door closes?
What if the grand door casts me out again?
Then where shall I go?
I didn't see another door.
CK Baker Jan 2017
I can’t wait
to be a hundred
turning over the thoughts
(and plots)
of Caledon
floating
on zimmer inserts
and dusted florsheims
three steps forward
in a dream woven
summer afternoon

through the
barn doors
and bee keeper flats
assimilating voices
from Sachems,
Forbes
and hope healers
coming and going
as the countryman
comes
and goes

you can feel it
in a place like this
the 3 in the tree memories
of Allis Chalmers
and combine parts
of Sundrim poppers
and shallow carp fields
the patterned lawsons
and fading caulk
(with ripped and rolled
frontier seats)

it’s a wishing well
for the peddler
and bold hydrangea...
both peeking their way
through
the rusted
grinders wheel
CK Baker Jan 2017
Thank you:
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
tight spaces
behind laundry doors
packed closets
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
foundation filled
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
village clothes
and saddlebags
peeling paint
and broken walls
****** seats
in bathroom stalls
clogged pantry
frigid rooms
table scribe
and carbon fumes
comfort capsules
empty tank
broken limbs
from children’s pranks
**** finger
double tongue
long goodbyes
and sidewalk dung
cluster flies
chavie’ clique
accompanying
the hypocrite
cracked back
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
atomic wedgy
closing doors
wrotten eggs
and open sores
jaw jack
nasty folk
dinner calls
for pig in poke
penny pinchers
double dip
yellow mouth
and silver tip
brown nose
thick red tape
paper cuts
and pimple nape
gallivants
so out of norm
the joy of life
in basic form
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