comfort in a cold wall

 I clung to the rough, white wall.

My mother always chose flat over satin.

The comfort came from the solidity of the wall itself,

 n o t   t h e   f i n i s h .

The universe would eat me up in my dreams.

 Until I felt the wall return to my grasp,

I wasn’t sure if I had ever been

s p i t   b a c k   o u t .

In growing, I became my own white wall.

Realizing the purpose of the  rough finish.

Nothing about this life is smooth.

Life is a challenge to stay grounded through

t h e   p a s s i n g   n i g h t m a r e s.

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