White Picket Fences

I choose not to comprehend those who guard their house
with a white picket fence,
even though it is chipped around the edges
to reveal the sodden timber.
Mother nature and the elementals
will always expose what needs to be,
so why this hassle to hide away from the world if
life is imminent?

Just like the photo of a loved one
embraced in a frame, keeps emotions contained within.
A small structure, less than a pinpoint to the earth,
cannot maintain perfection.
Difference and change will take its toil,
while black and white dreams of a faded photograph
make an unwary appearance.

The clothes introduced by our ancestors
only encourage this isolation of the truth,
and what is concrete.
Still,
if one fence was dismantled and one photo left loose,
the surplus truth would still never see
naked as beauty in society, nor emotions as success.
And the reason shall be left unsaid.

Whereas I,
I have been burned, and I loved again,
I lost, I found, I cried and I laughed,
removing my frames and doors that have shielded me from feeling,
and from living new experiences.
I danced in the rain and told the heavens about my day,
and I stood alone. I'm encircled now,
but there is still one space remaining...