My Word to the Realtor

My Word to the Realtor

Emily Krinos, Senior Creative Writer

I am tired of throwing and contorting
my body into the ideal perspective;
fitting into an array of cardboard boxes,
each smelling of potential, but
also timber.

 

Overwhelming exhaustion
of pack wrapping my heart and soul
into a pottery maker’s dream of critical limbs;
veins that pump blood to a mind filled with packing peanuts
and bones that snag holes in tapes screaming FRAGILE.
Pocket-sized streams of sunlight become joy,
and I am tired of everyday becoming a seasonal testament
of my strength.

 

And I wonder what complete lone feels like.
Who would I be without a FOR SALE sign
on my front lawn?

 

I am tired of being told I am only worth something
when my lips shape the same word as yours.
The speedbumps are cracking my spirit and
my back is sore from the constant tourism.

 

I am tired of open house
and renovations.
You’ll find me in the busted windows
and flooded staircases.

 

You’ll find me in the cracks in the crown molding and
you will not have to unroll me as a carpet.

 

You will find me in the effortless originality
and although I am still coughing up gravel,
I have only known awake
when there is a moving truck in my drive.