Poem: Inside. Outside.

Inside. Outside.

There comes a time when it does not matter
what side of the window you live in.

The yearning that punctuated your decades
is gone.

And you can finally see windows for what they are.
A space to see where you can, will, and do…. go.

About this poem

Still living the reflective hangover of another birthday. If you were to go way, way, way back in my poems, you would find a lot of poems with window metaphors, seeing windows more as a barrier, a false wall to where I wanted to be as I struggled with my depression.

Today, the depression is still there, But years of battling have made me crafty. I am way better off. And I no longer see it as a barrier, just a damned nuisance.

It’s good to mark your progress. (Little Dad dance).

The picture is of an old mill in Massachusetts that has now burned to the ground.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s