The poem is the story retold from the point of view of the wallpaper.
I hate that instead of posting new stuff I have written I'm posting homework, but hey it's been a busy quarter.
What am I but an installment, a piece of a house, a second thought?
What am I but an interior, a constant in a changing history, a staple to a disregarded room?
What am I but improvement lacking, a budgetary cut, an eyesore?
What am I but a fixation, a scar from a troubled past, a clue left by haunting?
What am I but a scapegoat, a tick for a nervous patient, an exception to all things fond?
What am I but unruly, a pointless pattern, a bulbous eye?
What am I but horrid, a vicious influence, a mind game?
Call me what you will, accuse me if you must but I am who you dictate.
I’m a stooping woman behind my pattern, a sense of creepy, a constant thought in your mind,
I’m a faint shake of pattern, irritating in the daylight, tortuous by night light,
I’m an acrobatic nightmare, noticed by all but acknowledged by you,
I’m hiding yellow kisses in your clothing, and strangled heads in my patterns,
I’m where your fixation boils over.
Who am I but a player of time, a masterpiece of manipulation?
Who am I but… in trouble….
Who am I but slowly vanishing bit by bit?
Who am I but vanishing still?
Who am I but almost vanished?
Who am I?
