Windows of the Soul

It’s certainly not supposed to be this complex.
It always seemed to be such an easy task for me.

Why oh why then am I being stared at by this white canvas judging the very core of my being?

Have I grown into an obscure, complex organism
Puzzling the very core of its nature?
Or have my brain turned deceitfully numb
Every time I dare to threaten it with a tiny bit of self-expression?
Is it that I write just to pretend and to convince
When I’m feeling confused about who I am?

being extremely sensitive towards my own criticism,
Anxious of them discovering something about me
Before I dare to dig it up myself.
Projecting myself through this illuminate shell
Into the person I believe they want me to be,
For acceptance,
Without judgment,
In a cycle of paradoxication
Routinely hitting me at the back of my head.

I need to emerge from my smothering cocoon
Which is deceiving me
More than the ones believed to be judging
As these false rays reflect,
Blinding my own vision into believes of judgmental faces.

Why do all these familiar faces look so hypercritically unaccustomed?

This fetus breeding inside my body
Needs to rip from its umbilical chain
It’s been poisoned through,
A poisoned soul that hasn’t yet lived to see the light of day
As it hides its wrinkled old face
From the light being projected
With its questionable, unknown motives.

Whether it’s being fabricated or authenticated it’s just so I can be validated.

Like the way they are being received
By beings breeding in their own cocoons
Filtering the light that dares to enter the web,
Self-weaved by their own interpretations and speculations
Devising believes being constructed as it absorbs this life
Inimitable towards each one’s own imagination,
Of how it is supposed to be.

Aren’t we all then just beings of own creation living as fetuses jailed in a ballad box pretending to be a breeding box?

Threatened by the light and drawn to the dark
You can hear their hunger call from far away
When roaring like a fierce beast
About to devour its vulnerable prey.

Covertly Hatching Worms, from eggs,
Breeding under thickly coated walls
To devour a hole into a soul
As shallow as a worn out sieve

Failing at filtering the downpour of poisoned rain –
Yearning to engrave hammered hearts onto slabs of stone.
Once these familiar faces start talking through the painted walls
It’s time for me to knit an endlessly tearing seam
To protect a dying flame from exposing
Through these faded windows I timidly wish to call–

‘Windows of the Soul.’
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Submitted on November 12, 2016

Modified on March 05, 2023

2:12 min read

Quick analysis:

Closest metre Iambic hexameter
Characters 2,472
Words 441
Stanzas 14
Stanza Lengths 2, 1, 6, 9, 5, 1, 7, 1, 7, 1, 4, 4, 6, 1

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