The Windowsill

Sitting in the windowsill of my bedroom with my knees pulled up to my chin feeling powerless and full of hate

I Suppose

Where do you place broken pieces of color?

I suppose I will one day display them with pride

until then I’ll hide them

beneath my mosaic collar

Silent Wishes

Staring at ghosts through a phantom window
Unwilling to turn away
Allowing the air to be taken from room

The Antidote

Watching with a tilted head
Wanting what it can never feel
Cowering as it festers on boils of disdain
Penetrating light burns it decaying flesh
A shield infused with Love and Kindness

Silent House

Tears of others used as a whetstone tool

Sharpened tongue precisely placed

Anger

You are not responsible for the angry choices of others, only your own.