Concealed behind walls of white; hidden from the world, from possibility; trapped within; looking out at the world so wonderful, so full of color and light, whilst I remain hidden behind these walls. Looking out through windows; out at the world I crave to rejoin, recovering from my falls; internal and external; in my head seated under willows, the emotions and events link as I am pacing those plain halls, jotting my thoughts in a journal, then shredding them to bits, taking part in wordless turns; giving those who love me quite a fright.
Apologizing for my mistakes; so much repetition, replaying that tainted day; over and over, imprinted in my brain; there it shall stay, forevermore, like a red stain on a white cloth, eaten away by a silent silkworm.
Crying rivers of salt whilst standing in the rain; crashing down around me, splashing at my feet; soothing my shivers, the drumming of each cascading drop so entrancing; running down the storm drain; it leaves me be, a moment of freedom, but only such; to arise once more to be my internal torment; my reflection in the window.
Whilst behind these walls so confining, though there are others around me; I am alone. None can see through the eyes of another, and no matter how many stories of mine I tell they shall never be enough to explain why I am behind these walls; why I am so small, and so afraid; nor why I cannot wait for the day to be on the other side of the window.
As I stand before this view, I realize; this scene here, is quite like Alice; standing before the looking glass, so full of wonder and curiosity of what could come from being on the other side; freedom, surely; but then, once within that freedom; what shall become of you then? Still, the memories would be haunting; still, the past would not let you go; still, all who know you would blame you; still, all would certainly never forgive you; still, you can feel the pressure hiding just on the other side of the looking glass; waiting for you.
Also, on the side of freedom, come the questions; come the side-ways glances; come the distrust; come the watchful eyes; come the empty words; come the promises from those who barely knew and say they shall be there but all is the same; come the cries at night when the ache is so great you cannot keep it in any longer; come the conversations with hesitation; come the jokes with the carefully placed filters; come the songs they quickly switch; come the topics once barely uttered and now often discussed; come the stress soon to try to swallow you whole again; come the temptations that you cast aside; come the guilt and misery; comes the new and all-powerful chaos, waiting to devour you whole.
How could I ever forget the thing I most regret? Nightmare made reality; never entirely given a sense of safety or security; gripping in the dark, searching; leaving a scar upon my weary mind; to remind me of what it is I simply must discover; peace of mind; through the pale lit window.
Through the pale lit window is the potential for chaos, but also the potential for a better future. New outlooks on what could be; projects never before thought of or completed; inspirations for poems and art at every turn; knowledge of my strengths and weaknesses; energy and motivation to walk hikes for miles; songs to be written and sung; stories written, completed, and shared; words spoken that are so few, yet strong and powerful; a life ahead never before dreamt of.
- Jay M
January 21st, 2020
This is a prose poem based upon a poem of mine called "Girl At A Window". I wrote this for my Creative Writing final, which I really hope I get a good grade on.
