a girl only of eighteen
sitting in a lonely room
with windows to personalities
she can only have dreamt for
meeting those she despised
and those she love
once when she feels comfortable
they decide to close to their panes
knocking on the glass,
they only walk away
so she lived her entire life
walking in and out of panes
watching as each window vanish,
and she sits in this room,
she decorated with paint
and words from authors
which kept her sane
the bright morning light filters through
and leaves pink flares
she presses her head to the walls,
and ponder which way to go
she needs the greatest downpour
of shivering rain which smells like
the pours of an ocean coral
she needs the greatest uproar
of golden reflections
which keeps her warm at night
which way is the door?
a hand extended to help her
to show her how to feel
very much alive,
and to get back on her feet
she's tired of meeting those people
which leaves her emotions sore