From My Window

As time continues forward there’s always been this lonesome thought floating in my mind ever since I was a child: “Why good people let themselves get treated so badly”. This phrase was the root of my insperation that my mind had graced me with. Growing up the world around me always made sure to remind me to stay hidden in my home. As I’d watch outside my rose covered window down the hill I was always greeted with the sight of those who do good getting withered down to the bone. The quiet kid down the block refuses to fight back against those that do him harm, the kind girl who loves all isn’t loved by the one who holds her, and the docile boy who would never hurt another is hurt by his parent’s words for not loving girls as they had hoped. Seeing these things from my window hidden by rose bushes riddled with thorns helped me come to a realization no kid my age could ever come to realize: “we accept the love we think we deserve”.

The quiet kid was raised to believe love was given with fists instead of hugs. The kind girl accepts those empty promises of unbridled love because she thinks this is the love she deserves and creates the fantasy of being happy while being treated less than nothing by those she has treated kindly. The docile boy accepts those shots of endless slander from his parents because of fear of losing the love they have left for him. All this just from looking out my window. As the days go by the rose bushes grow taller and redder almost as if they were trying to shield me from the world outside my window like a mother shielding their child from a movie to adult for their age.

 Now there’s nothing but a great big thick wall of thorns and rose buds that cast a shadow in my room. I jump off the bay window and play off somewhere in my room with my younger siblings who I hope will never grow up as fast as I did. I play away knowing that soon it will be time for my parents to trim down the rose bushes so I can continue looking at how the world treats those that do good and are rewarded with nothing. It’s funny you see, when I look at those three I see myself in thirds, each holding a part of me even though I myself have never stepped foot outside of my home sweet home. “We accept the love we think we deserve.”

 

That is my insperation. Through glass and a wall of thorns and flowers those three gave me insperation that took form of that of a curious child.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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