Walls

They say walls have ears
hidden somewhere beneath the concrete.
They say walls have mouths
and eerie little voices,
that spread our secrets and sins while we sleep.

They say you shouldn’t talk to walls.

I talk to my wall.
I yell and scream and cry,
and still it doesn’t understand what I am saying.
It continues to whisper,
without understanding,
the misconstrued words that constitute my anger.

I figure, hidden in its dehydrated hardness
is a shriveled little heart that finds some sick satisfaction
in watching me cry and tear at it’s hardened mass.
It rejoices secretly at my frustration and pain.

I yell at my wall
and it stares back at me blankly.
A screen of whitewashed opinion
An edifice of insensitivity.
It watches me crumple into a puddle of tears.

It whispers back an empty and twisted apology.
What more can one expect from a shriveled little heart?

They say you shouldn’t talk to walls.
Shame on me for expecting humanity from a concrete wall.

by chelle santos

Comments (1)

Extremely intense. Another good poem. -war