Windowsill with the cracked paint
Why do you stare at me like that
Begging me to empathize with your unwanted imperfection?
Don’t you know that someone did that to you?
Someone took their nails and raked them across your finish
Picking off pieces of you one by one
Maybe it was absentminded, animal nature, not meaning any harm
Or maybe it was deliberate
Some kind of payback for the way you gave them a sliver when they sat on you
But did they even bother to tell you?
Are you shuddering every time something enters the room?
Feeling exposed and confused?
Do you wish the house were never occupied
Because on purpose or not, no one would have the chance to touch your delicate paint
Don’t lie to me!
You wanted it, didn’t you?
You wanted to feel the warmth inside
That feeling of completion that would make you smile
The comfort in knowing you had a higher purpose
That you were meant for something great
Did you shine a bit brighter when they were around?
Did the thought of your damage even occur to you?
Did they dust you at first, when you needed it?
Wipe a cloth along any tarnish that dare erode the perfection you felt?
When did that stop, do you even know?
When did that dust suddenly seem less important to them?
What about when they scratched you? Did you say anything?
Did you mention to them that yes, it did indeed hurt?
Did they make promises to you, Windowsill,
Promises that they never meant you any harm
And would continue to keep you safe?
Fix yourself, did they eventually tell you?
But they forget that you can’t stop them when they scratch you
Because in essence
You’re not even Real.