Poetry On Odyssey: Kitchen Table

Standing here, beside you,

Pain strikes my heart

And sorrow fills my soul

As I sympathize for all you have been through.

You have the anatomy of an empty grave slot

Waiting for a coffin to fulfill its void for all eternity.

But for you,

Your void remains as vacant as the bellies

That sit beside you when they are crying in hunger.

Just as their crying bellies,

Your emptiness is only fulfilled temporarily.

Some days, they dress you

In daisy-woven and sunlight stained fabrics

To hide the cavernous scars

That they brought upon on.

On other days, they leave you naked.

Forcing you to hold their shallow porcelain disks

With burning bottoms

Along with their heavy goblets

With forceful aromas,

Never thinking about the burns or bruises these deeds bring to your bare skin.

The four-legged sculptures that press against you

Disrespect the rules of personal space

And let out groans when they are pulled away from you.

Only once in a while are you shown appreciation,

When you are sprinkled with cozy chemicals

That awakens the shine that was taken away from you.

But it won't last for too long

Because soon the four wooden pillars that bear your very being

Will become too weak and give out.

Soon your shine will go into an everlasting slumber,

And you will realize:

All the burns you swallowed,

All the wine spills you endured,

All the laughter they shared with you,

And all the memories they made with you

Shaped your very being

But meant nothing to them.

Because you are just a kitchen table,

Taking on as many plates as they want you to handle,

But never thinking of yourself.

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