Through Glass

I want to thank the thing that held the muscles at the back of my throat painfully tight every time I have thought of speaking.

Now that I have floated down from that whisper of existence,

Bright humanity can only make me smile.

They have painted so well on the world where I have cast no color,

And I thank anxiety for showing me the genius of extroversion,

To throw a handprint into the universe, to hold it in your hands, to make it—

How to be human without being brave.

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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