Beneath Glass in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...

  • March 1, 2020, 10:41 p.m.
  • |
  • Public

I feel that I have been trapped beneath glass, capable of looking out and seeing. Screaming, at times, but my voice contained coolly and completely. A witness to unspeakable things, and all the while I am working on myself and my situation, but in the end I remain beneath the glass surface. I could break it, but the world will then shatter and damage far beyond my own will be done.

Immense.

Immeasurable.

And I don’t believe there will be any picking up of those pieces should it occur.

Honestly, I’ve changed so much I don’t recognize myself anymore. I feel I am hardly even a shadow of myself.

Some nuanced reflection.

I’ve never been better.

I’ve never been healthier.

I’ve never been as good a person as I am today.

It’s been so much hard work on my part for the past three years.

And yet I look around and I think I am so far from civilization.

No one sees me.

Hears me.

I am beneath the looking glass, left only to do that.

And so I keep working.

It’s got to matter to someone.

March 1, 2020


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