This poem was written by my 16 year old daughter. I know that someday she will meet her dreams and be an author. This poem made me cry...
Moving
How can you box away ten years in two days?
The task seemed impossible.
But nevertheless, the geometric sea of cardboard relics is everywhere, piled on the off-white floor.
A crew of movers will pack the rest of them after their lunch break.
The carpet is smudged slightly with their five sets of grease-blackened boots, but we have a cleaner to take care of that, too.
This shouldn’t bother me. Everything is coming with.
I ascend the wooden staircase, trying not to notice the little white clay marks where nails used to be.
Yep. That’s about where the picture of Jonathan and me was.
Of course, in a matter of days, those holes will be blended into the cappuccino-colored paint.
My room is even emptier than the ground floor. There are dents in the carpet where my bed, cabinet, and other furniture items stood.
I rub the toe of my shoe across one. It’s already begun to fade.
The large, curtainless window tells all.
I feel sort of naked, standing exposed for all my ex-neighbors to see.
I bend down and my knees press into the unforgiving carpet. My knees will probably get dents from the carpet as the carpet was dented by the bed. None of the dents will survive, though.
I grope around in my pocket until I find it.
The charcoal pencil.
With a quick glance around the room, I push back the carpet and write it close to the floor.
Only if you were searching would you find it.
Every letter is etched with care.
B
E
T
H
A quiet hope swells in my soul. No matter where I go, I will never be
Erased
