Tired Wood

By Vaishnavi Ojha

I think, it's tired of hearing the yells;

The yells it saves for another day.

I hope the day never comes around;

Behind it, when the burned paragraphs about screams and noises are found. 

I think, it's tired of remembering the times it was slammed;

When the times I overreacted should have been nothing more than excuses;

When the noises of tearing up unsent letters should have been merely useless.

My room's door is tired;

Tired of silencing every cry when my father's curses were much needed;

Tired of being shut when my tantrums were trying to be defeated.

It's overloaded with memories that were not its to take,

My door just needs another dramatic cut to finally, break.

By Vaishnavi Ojha