yes.
it is a sickness to leave no holes in walls.
a note:
leaving holes in the shape of fists
is a related separate sickness;
perhaps they will be cross-referenced in the next DSM.when you yell
and it breaks nothing or not enough
or you worry
your fist will hit something more human than drywall
those holes too say:
Here Is a Person Who Does Not Know How To Touch The World
i have only always lived in:
a perpetual state of financial insecurity;
perpetual fear of losing my security deposit;
not many square feet to start with and
an ever-narrowing window of time before the lease runs out.
i fear and wonder that
i may never live
in a home
i own. by which i mean:
i may indeed do and sign the deed.
i may be queen of all that i surveil.
i may have a room of my own
and a fenced backyard,
a built-in washer-dryer,
(or more likely a dilapidated porch
and burnt grass
and a laundromat around the corner)
i fear and wonder that
i may never live
in a home
i own. by which i mean:
i cannot use command strips and tacs
to hang my grandmother’s mirror,
or floating shelves to display her perfume bottle
and a porcelain unicorn i was given at age 8
and a puck thrown to me by my favorite player.
i would have to.
leave holes.
in the walls.
by which i mean. i mean. i mean to say.
i have bought drywall anchors and a stud finder
and yet have hung no heavy pictures.
i have my painters tape and tarps galore
and yet have painted no walls.
because
to make this space my own
i will have to
i will have to
i will have to hammer a nail,
screw into drywall (anchors: purchased),
i will have to think:
this is my home
where i will live
that i can damage.
that i am damaging
in order to make it mine
yes.
it is my sickness to leave no holes in walls
Your poem is compelling, and ranged a long ways in emotional complexity. Surprising turns. Great use of framing.
Well done!
Oh, thank you! The first comment on my first poem for my first half-marathon. 🙂 I appreciate you so much!