Windows of the Soul

Poem about my frustration with who I am and desperateness to change in a world that doesn't allow it.

It’s certainly not supposed to be this complex.

It always seemed to be such an easy task for me.

Why oh why then am I being stared at by this white canvas judging the very core of my being?

Have I grown into an obscure, complex organism 

puzzling the very core of its nature? 

Or have my brain turned deceitfully numb 

every time I dare to threaten it with a tiny bit of self-expression? 

Is it that I write just to pretend and to convince 

when I’m feeling confused about what I am? 

It seems like I’m being extremely sensitive towards my own criticism, 

anxious of them discovering something about me 

before I dare to dig it up myself. 

Projecting myself through this illuminate shell 

into the person I believe they want me to be, 

for acceptance, 

without judgment, 

in a cycle of paradoxication 

routinely hitting me at the back of my head. 

I need to emerge from my smothering cocoon 

which is deceiving myself 

more than the ones believed to be judging 

as these false rays reflect, 

blinding my own vision into believes of judgmental faces. 

Why do all these familiar faces look so hypercritically unaccustomed? 

This fetus breeding inside my body 

needs to rip from its umbilical chain 

it’s been poisoned through, 

a poisoned soul that hasn’t yet lived to see the light of day 

as it hides its wrinkled old face 

from the light being projected 

with its questionable unknown motives. 

Whether it’s being fabricated or authenticated it’s just so I can be validated.

Like the way they are being received 

by beings breeding in their own cocoons 

filtering the light that dares to enter the web, 

self-weaved by their own interpretations and speculations 

devising believes being constructed as it absorbs this life 

inimitable towards each one’s own imagination, 

of how it is supposed be. 

Aren’t we all then just beings of own creation living as fetuses jailed in a ballad box pretending to be a breeding box?

Threatened by the light and drawn to the dark

you can hear their hunger call from far away 

when roaring like a fierce beast 

about to devour its vulnerable prey. 

Covertly Hatching Worms, from eggs, 

breeding under thickly coated walls 

to devour a hole into a soul 

as shallow as a worn out sieve 

failing at filtering the downpour of poisoned rain �" 

yearning to engrave hammered hearts onto slabs of stone.

Once these familiar faces start talking through the painted walls 

it’s time for me to knit an endlessly tearing seam 

to protect a dying flame from exposing 

through these faded windows I timidly wish to call�" 

‘Windows of the Soul.’

Reviews

[Insight "MH"]

After reading this, I want to hug you.

Insight.