dat poem about home

[whereareyougoingstanley]

On the inside

One of life's less pleasant phenomena
is the amazing capacity for doors to affect one's mood.
For instance,
inside a particular door one may find continual questioning
about why one chooses to spend so very much time
outside it.
The root cause can seem untraceable,
the accused them-self completely unaware
that it was even happening at all.
And yet,
to the trained eye it is all too apparent
how the mood drops
as they cross the threshold.
That suddenly the most glorious example
of personality
and drive
and dedication
and skill
and happiness
to everyone outside the door
no longer holds any presence,
once they get inside.
On the contrary,
there is nothing very much they can do
to stop displeasing the people
in there.

No one really gets them
inside the door
no one really approves of what they like,
and even when they've tried until they're sore but they're triumphant
or if their heart is bleeding and it just won't stop,

they don't say anything.

No glory, no hurt, no goals do they share.
Inside the door,
no one cares.

It might not seem like it
to someone perching on the porch.
I guess we're all smiles in public.
But if you want to know the reason
why opening that door is so hard
and so unappealing,
listen at the walls
on the inside of the door,
and you won't be asking any-more.

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and now i'm going to tidy my room haha :)