what creaks at night and frightens.
Wood slats on an old house.
I swing out big like promises, big like hope.
I am a noise maker.
I am slapping the walls, knocking around inside your brain
dry rot taste in your mouth.
I am memory, the past, an old soul with a fresh coat of mustard paint
chipped at the hinges.
I am used, useful, fixable, functional.
Eyes see through me.
Breeze blows through me.
I am weak and courageous.
Flimsy and firm.
I am your defense against the storm.
Thanks to Steph for posting this prompt. It's my new favorite writer's block defeating tool, followed closely by the I Am From poem.
