the glass of the world
is cracked
by the shouts and cries
of those oppressed
by the wind of love
that ceases to exist
by the selflessness
that humankind
never did possess

That was a wonderful time of day
When I took a glimpse of a person
Who never bothered about the specifics
of life in general
but glided past it
and loved life to its fullest
because of the minuscule moments
that pieced together
bit by bit and
day by day

He would wake up with wide eyes
and absorb life slowly and quietly
a book was his friend
music his haven
and most of all art was his expression
words were simple
short
phrases
glued together with thought
and the only conversations
were those that dealt with sifting through
the meaning of life

He became my magnifying glass
my compass
my sword of knowledge
and this still
remains true today

802 Bun Drive
Bun drive in Woolsbury, Horshire
With its crooked sign dripping with water
A doorbell oiled and glistening with an odd feeling of warmth
As if this was done to hide all the beautiful mess underneath
Like when an eraser hides the mistakes one makes
But these mistakes should be highlighted
for they are a part of one's identity

I knocked once but nothing happened
And I thought he may not be home
Welcome I said to myself
Even without a welcome sign or mat
I just knew welcome was to be imagined in our heads

He asked me on a morning which I didn’t want to see
“Are you well today”
And I say I'm fine
But fine is not definite

What I wanted to say was
I am balancing between two mountains
and today is the day when the ground splits
and crumbles below me

He asked me on a night that I wanted to hide from
“Whats up”
And I thought
Can I pass, ask someone else

And I look in the mirror and say who am I
I want to be someone
I just don’t know why
Cause I have straight hair
But I want curly
Cause I want strength
And not weakness

And I told my friend
What they want to be
And they said
They want to be like me

So
Short and tall
And big and small
I guess it doesn’t matter at all
Dark and light
Skin and all
Who cares what color we all are

when life seems smothered in beauty
such beauty disappears
when laughter pierces the glass of night
it leads to sorrow
when the aroma of pie swirls through the room
a fire waits to consume