Paper Memories

Another poem I don't perform often enough - inspired by my partner's desire to paper his hall with photos, and the image of being the next person to live there.

PAPER MEMORIES
We papered over your old memories when we moved into our new house
Painted over the fading photos you'd used to cover the walls
Peeled them of by the corners like price tags on the haven of your history
I saved a few photos of you, maybe your children too
Or maybe you were the sepia-toned child in the dress I always thought was blue
I stuck the pictures up under my bed and called you my friend
I'd come and sit with you at the end of school when times were hard
Like when they dragged me by my ankles around the schoolyard
And it really hurt but I couldn't tell anyone but you
Because I knew you'd keep quiet, not make a fuss
Drag me to the teacher or pass rumours on the schoolbus
Tell me I was rattling and shouldn't tell tall tales
Say I should be stronger or that I was a failure
You just smiled, frozen in place
I read patient acceptance into your child's face
A loving parent in the greyed-out wrinkles
A girlfriend's cheeky love in the flirty wink
I played house and make-believe with you
Even though you were cold in your frame
I wondered if you were alive or dead
If under my bed was not a den but a grave
Sometimes it messed with my head
And I took all the pictures down
But I always put them back up
Until one day the 'why's didn't stack up
To my teenaged, self-conscious mind
And I hid you in a drawer, closed your eyes in the dark and made you blind
I don't think about you much anymore
But when I do, I'm grateful
You were there when I needed you
A quiet confidante or playful
You saw me through most of the worst
So thank you for living in my house first.

Thanks for watching!