Poets write a lot about people having windows you can see into souls with
Often about how the morning sun glitters through, covering everything good in gold and leaving the bad in darkness
But we are more stained glass than perfectly clear
Refracting light color coating parts of us that we don’t want people to see
How I felt guilty that my friend died and how 3 years later I wished it was me instead of him – he was much kinder than I
I wish he was still around so I could see the man he would have become
How my heart still aches for her to come back but I know she never will
I still dream about her but she’s hundreds of miles away barely remembering my name
How I regret getting sick like this
Suicide still hangs at the back of my mind as an illuminated exit sign, never leaving but not as prominent anymore
How I learned happiness after the man who’s outside was pretty but inside left me a ruin of who I was before
If only he cared to see me now
Souls are dark twisted things shaped by who we were and who we are
The bad parts of us don’t hide in the corners