break her
drain her
seep her of her worth
beat her down to nothing
relentless fists of words
she loves him too much
she doesn't have the strength
to walk out the door
with a smile on her face
my ex boyfriend used to open my window and crawl in at night thus the title
is it any wonder
social constructions
damn the soul?
i am born.

entire constellations
ingested by men
who stole the
braver buck.

is it any wonder
the higher numbers
damn the low?

artists hide their holy
proper alkahest
swirl into the torrent
eyes fixed on the hole
going full Atropos
by slashing tethers
and teaching us to fly

is it any wonder
construction kills abstraction
encrusts the brilliant stone
in destructive gray?

is it any wonder
emotional capacities
have been bled from me?
they must bless the fallen
they must make Halal
the bounteous
human feast

an exoteric world rises
while one esoteric burrows
in bright dark underneath.

two parts of a whole broken
banished to disconnection
when dichotomies could meet.


. . . SCAN COMPLETE
Tricia May 15
If we could see
What windows can see
As they gaze out into the night,
Would we stand there amazed?
Perplexed and quite dazed?
Or simply be filled with a fright?

The windows reflect us,
Their glass won't perfect us,
But still we have reason to stare.
Because windows they show you
Yourself like they know you,
And unknown they catch all unaware
-c.
Abigail Hobbs May 14
Broken windows through
one's pained eyes
show the love we sadly lack
What is this world without you and I?
Or love?
That's what shoulders are meant for
To bare adoration, passion
The things sometimes this world seems to forget
And though it may not seem so,
it's hard to hate
Those who've misused love,
who don't pick up the broken pieces,
leaving them askew.
05/12/18
Özcan Sh May 8
I see something through her eyes
It is as if the eyes were windows
A window you can see what's behind there
I look through her beautiful eyes
I could see and feel her warm heart
Although I don´t have her in my arms.
She looks so happy but little do you know that she's slowly dying inside

Frozen in a stance where she looks quite pleasant and delightful

Her eyes seem so joyful but if you really look closely you will probably notice that it's lost it's luster

No one will ever notice the pain behind her smile

There is a distinct beauty in her sorrow
A picture is worth a thousand words
Max McGrath Apr 17
I wonder if I could live
A world as wondrous
As my mind could imagine
Like the ones I have read
Like the ones I have in my daydreams

I wonder if that world will come true
The fantasies I had as a child,
The imaginary world to comfort me when I am down.
To save me from danger
To love me as its own.

The smiling faces of everyone that greeted me.
For me to live in Paradise
As God would have given me.
To save me from this hellish reality
For me to be free.

My falsus fenestra,
The world in which I can be rex rgis
Where every person is free
Where I can be happy.
My imaginary world.

But I wake my eyes, to see
The reality right before me.
Alas, it is still my falsus fenestra.
The only place in my mind
Where I hide from my real life.

My false window of illusions and fantasies.
Given to me by the most unique part of myself.
My vine of hope, to change the world
Until my final sleep.
Until I die.
One summer night, I imagined all the worlds I thought I could live in, and wondered if they will ever be true.
where he closes a door he opens a window
or so i am told
for every door closes, slams shut behind me
and turns into a wall

every wall solid, brick, concrete
impenetrable and grey
no cracks, nowhere to slip through and escape
i run my hands along the walls, feeling for a flaw
i find nothing but scraped palms

i hear voices on the other side
i hear people talking, praying

every voice muffled, muted, hushed
indistinguishable and grey
no words, nothing to slip through and help me understand
i scream and scratch against the walls hoping to be heard
i find nothing but raw psalms

i feel around for anything
a hammer, a chisel, a light switch
something to save me

but all i find are things i've thrown
plates, pillows, a shattered phone

the walls are closing in around me
they think i don't know that they're moving in each night
but i taste the closeness of the air each morning
and i know i don't have much time left

i don't have much time left
Then there was this wood framed window
A glass pane cut for viewing out
It stares as should a good named fellow
A pair of lookers viewing doubt

Just as one sees through another
A good named fellow keeps it clear
Injustice done decrees a brother;
The wood frame window’s kin appears

When looking out means looking in
Good named fellows unhook the latch
Exploring how to dream within
A wood frame sometimes meets its match

Just then, there was a wood framed view
At last, a scene of how it should
Reflections he would not see through
No glass to keep this fellow good
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