They say
that every person
is like a huge room
with a tiny window.
But
every time
I crack that window open
just a smidge,
no one notices.
I leave it open
for some time,
just in case.
Then
pebbles start flying,
aimlessly,
at my cracked-open,
tiny window.
Pebbles,
but then they get closer
and suddenly
they look like
boulders.
So I close it.
I close it
before they can hit
and shatter
my tiny window.
YOU ARE READING
Feathers: A Book of Poetry
PoetryA pencil is the spotlight of a soul. It tells them its okay to overflow. It tells them ideas are art, and that the best ones are masterpieces. Feathers is a collection of poetry by me to convey the beauty and undeniable strife of the world, and emot...
