Paint Peeling

Feelings, talking, sharing
are overrated words people
need in their lives to confirm
a sense of happiness, turning
broken houses with flowers
planted in tires outside into a
version of some fairytale that
lied, so I believe we should feel
as little as possible, speaking only
when necessary, sharing nothing
of your soul, protect it, because
promises aren't carved in stone.
Broken, they're etched into skin.
I'll let my paint peel away showing
rotten boards of my shack, weeds
wildly making their own fence.
This is the only normal I ever
remembered, the only life I've
known since death took them.