i sit and stare

at the hole in the hallway

where my fist busted through

the drywall back in 2009

it reminds me of you

it reminds me of us

a deep-rooted puncture

through a seemingly sturdy

yet fragile barricade

fueled by frustration

and empathy

a mesh screen holding the mud

and crumbs together

to pretend the wall

was nothing but a mere fragment

paint and cement

to hide the blemishes

like a slight knock

wouldnt cause the crater

to crumble into ashes

thats how you looked at me;

like you had watched the men

work for hours

patching the hole

that was forever left unfilled

but you talked to me

like my fist slamming

against the wall caused

every single beam that held

your house in tact, to disintegrate

and instead of patching me up,

you left. you moved into a better house

with modern design,

where the word “demolished”

rolled off the tongue

like a word you couldn’t pronounce.

you are the reason

i find it foolish to believe the saying

“everything that’s broken, can easily be fixed”

because this hole in the wall

we’ve been stitching up for years,

will always be soft

and we will sit here, broken together

looking at the hole in the hallway

where my fist busted through

the drywall in 2009

and see its nothing more

than a dent hidden behind

an excuse of why we’ll never make it.