Storerooms

Storerooms

Holding rooms for evicted tenants

Whose rents paid out

One time or another in the man-

On the other side of the door’s

Life

(Where they head afterwards,

They choose not to know)

Some bored poetry written in class that turned out pretty well (to me), considering a unwilling/unconscious hiatus of nearly a year. But I think I’m adding on to it or editing it here and there sometime later. Busy/Lazy now.

Was not about storerooms at first. Was about some photo frame hung of a girl on the wall of a dilapidated house (like how she’s dead and how her picture outlives her and haunts the room) and it features her eyes and her smile that starts with “Her smile was of the wintry sun’s” -.- yes I know.

How cheesy. Isn’t a poem about storerooms much cooler? (Half-jesting)

And afterwards, I decided that ‘eyes’ were easier to talk about so I changed ‘smile’ to ‘gaze’. But the back was cooler. It goes:

“While she stood on guard (body gone, only a face now)

In frames (mahagony)

Behind bars

Cling-wrapped in the flash”

Then I went on lamely about how that smile/gaze of her exuded enough energy to seem to be bursting out of the seams (of the frame of course). It was called “In Frames” by the way.

But no, anything about woman and their eyes/smiles are kinda bad.

I kinda figured when I got back and typed it out and was thinking about changing it to haunting yellowed family portraits but got too lazy, wasn’t in the mood.

So I stole a chunk here and there from the inital poem and…hey, Storerooms!

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Storerooms

Storerooms

Holding rooms for evicted tenants

Whose rents paid out

One time or another in the man-

On the other side of the door’s

Life

(Where they head afterwards,

They choose not to know)

Some bored poetry written in class that turned out pretty well (to me), considering a unwilling/unconscious hiatus of nearly a year. But I think I’m adding on to it or editing it here and there sometime later. Busy/Lazy now.

Was not about storerooms at first. Was about some photo frame hung of a girl on the wall of a dilapidated house (like how she’s dead and how her picture outlives her and haunts the room) and it features her eyes and her smile that starts with “Her smile was of the wintry sun’s” -.- yes I know.

How cheesy. Isn’t a poem about storerooms much cooler? (Half-jesting)

And afterwards, I decided that ‘eyes’ were easier to talk about so I changed ‘smile’ to ‘gaze’. But the back was cooler. It goes:

“While she stood on guard (body gone, only a face now)

In frames (mahagony)

Behind bars

Cling-wrapped in the flash”

Then I went on lamely about how that smile/gaze of her exuded enough energy to seem to be bursting out of the seams (of the frame of course). It was called “In Frames” by the way.

But no, anything about woman and their eyes/smiles are kinda bad.

I kinda figured when I got back and typed it out and was thinking about changing it to haunting yellowed family portraits but got too lazy, wasn’t in the mood.

So I stole a chunk here and there from the inital poem and…hey, Storerooms!

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