a poem by Mary Weingartener
like the rolling clouds and ominous fog that surrounded
the old ramshackle barn as I walked to class and started my day.
A whole, well-maintained picture to an outsider, but slightly
amiss to those who are curious enough to dare take a second look.
as the old stone layered exterior
deterring others from getting too close.
like the stand-alone building,
not comparable to others, for I know my own worth.
Like the trees to the barn,
never a moment alone.
Much as the broken siding and crumbling foundation,
a small piece of me breaks a little more every day.
like the wind blowing swiftly around each new obstacle along its path
taking note of those who have walked the journey beside me, unforgivingly.
when the sun slowly rises, shedding light across the darkness of the woods
that tomorrow will not be
One of those days.