The doors, those bloody doors!
Why do you not knock on them?
Why do you knock the hell out of them?
Why do you not close them?
Why do you break them?
Why do you paint them?
Oh, look! There’s termites…
The doors, the bloody doors!
Why does this black room even have them?
The doors, the bloody doors!
Is there a flood beyond them?
Is there a stalker slowly breaking them?
Is there too much light ahead of them?
The doors, the bloody doors!
When did I build them?
Did my wounded hands create them?
The bloody doors!
4 responses to “The bloody doors!”
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Lovelyy ♥️🫰🏾 Reminds me of all the walls I built around myself, and the doors I need to build to let people in. But always sceptical and doubtful. Will I regret opening the doors? Time has to tell.
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Beautifully written! your words echo lots of memories, frustration, and mystery. Big fan of you “Mistress of Metaphor❤️”
As for me, I’m learning to build my own doors, ones that open more gently with time. They may resist, surprise, or reveal the unknown, but I’ve come to accept that. Whatever they hold, Armed with grit, I’ll meet them patiently, and press ahead.
Chitrapatam 
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