Glass house.

Let’s drown our fears I’ll start

I’ll compose a poem out of the words that seem to always run off my tongue, making promises I can never be sure to keep, bringing me to bonds, weaving me to plots and forcing me to always attempt to outsmart the laws that determine my fate, of broken promises and spiritual ties that try to lead me to a hell that surely I’ll hate.

So I’ll talk. To myself and by my own standards it will pass as a poem, no judgment from the outside, no views from hindsight, no companion on my side, only voices created from within that cheer me on and help me begin.

I’ll perform. To my imagination, sort of thinking that could inspire a nation, promising salvation from the eternal damnation that has told me that it was wrong to seek my own emancipation, convinced me that it was all hallucination that I had no station, that I had to be patient, but who ever wants to play patient when I’m the doctor, and also the proctor, you in my school you little fish! you better stand in that corner and understand that the ground you’re on is my standard, yes, I control your surface and I can see your scared face, I probably should have made it clear in the the preface, that once you’ve wandered this far you swimming with the sharks, and my bite definitely leaves marks, every word always seems to suggest that I’m the mark, I’m the central park in the dark all the lights lead to me, so bright you might loose your sight.

But there’s no walls in this house. The rainy season awaits. All my youthful days I spent throwing stones, playing saints and sinners, looking good, feeling smooth in front of my mirrors I didn’t know I was in a glass h o u s e


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