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.