Window Well

Sitting in a window well,

Rain drizzling down,

(not a pour, not a sprinkle)

headphones on,

looking busy.

Somehow I get more conversation

when sitting in a window well

than I do anywhere else in this school.


Glass House

I am a glass house.

It seems like you can see

right through.

Spires of joy,

windows of cheer,

my bright light shining through the dark.

So simple,

so peaceful,

so easy to understand.

Inside the glass house

lives a hidden beast.

Wrapped in a dark shadow,

he hides himself well.

Within rooms of crystal structure

and colored diamond walls,

he festers and hides to whisper in my heart.

Lies that sound like truths

and truths that sound like lies.

His voice passes beyond my hands

seeping through my fingers

pressed hard on my ears.

The glass house has many halls,

and he lurks in them all.

No matter where I run,

where I hide,

he finds me.

The whispers increase,

beating a rhythm in my chest,

pounding ideas in my head.

“Not enough”

“No good”

“Not worthy”

“Deserve death”

They won’t leave my house,

no matter how I plead.

When he pounds on my doors,

it builds in my head.

The need to feel.

To escape.

To go.

Lies, but true.

Persistent and unending.


Not until I bring pain.

With flash of silver-grey,

Pale canvas slashed down in desperation.

Red will drip down,

dark on the crystal floors.

If I am not found, then sweet release is close.

I am a glass house.

Only now I have worked to rid my mind

of the shadowed man.

He still lurks in the halls,

Lies darting like a tongue

of a lizard eating prey.

His voice still seeps in,

sickly sweet and intoxicating,

and I want to give in.

But hope is not lost now.

I was saved before,

I am saved now.

So when you look to my glass house,

You will see tall spires

and colored windows,

and halls lined with diamonds.

Don’t be fooled.

The shadow man still lives.

But now you can see him too.

Self Pity

You know the worst part of self-pity?

You know the truth already.

(Or what you think is true)

You know you are wrong.

(but those thoughts are still there)

So, you ask someone else.

(And feel guilty the whole time)

You hope that they won’t judge you

(at least, not like you judge yourself)

and hope that maybe they understand.

(and don’t think you’re begging for attention)

You just need someone else to tell you things,

(because you can’t force yourself to believe them)

validate who you are.

(when you can’t)

What Would I Say?

What would I want the world to know

if I knew the world will listen?

Your world is not exclusive- others live in it too.

You do discriminate/judge/cast others down-

just because everyone does,

does not make it right.

Pushing others down/away is only momentary relief.

And life is short but long too-

make sure you like what you do.

This world is broken,

and while I believe another world is coming,

that doesn’t mean we can abuse it (or others)

Belief doesn’t mean “everyone NEEDS to follow only me”.

Faith doesn’t mean “cram it down your throat”.

Just because I have both doesn’t make me intolerant (or ignorant).

I am paradoxical at heart,

overly trusting and compassionate.

I can be swayed by the wrong people.

Art is beautiful and should be appreciated.


What would I say if the world would listen?

In the end, I would say:

Please, just listen. Understand. Empathize.

Open hearts and minds can help, I promise.

Just please, learn to care.

About the world around, and the things in your life.

Care, so we can love without fear.