Author's Note: Wow.first thing I've written in a while and it turns out
like this. Um.it's full of some pretty strange descriptions of how I view
the "interesting" inner sanctuary of my mind (pretty much a place you
should stay out of! ^^'') and how I treat myself, both consciously and
subconsciously. The poem came right along with a piece of artwork I did,
but while the poem's going to see the light of day, the drawing sure isn't!
Oh, if it explains anything, I wrote it while listening to "Crucify" by
Tori Amos. Anyway. Here it is.
Soul of Glass
Glass can be beautiful, until it's broken
Then the pieces fly everywhere
And it's impossible to piece together
The same is true with a glass soul
Perhaps it was once a beautiful thing, I don't know
Transparent and whole, to view the world through
Or perhaps it was like the sheet glass in the reject pile
Look upon as unique by some, but fit for no true purpose
I took the glass for granted,
But at the same time, I celebrated it every day
Through my glass soul, I observed the world
Seeing it as only one with such translucence can
Then they came.
They pounded, trashed, and tried to ruin it
But no matter what they threw, the glass remained unbroken
Cracked, but still whole
Then I came.
I pounded, trashed, and tried to ruin it
And under my persistence, the glass broke
Cracked and no longer whole
Reduced to fragments, scattered to the winds
Realizing what I'd done,
I chased after and picked up every last part
Then sat down to put them back together
With each sliver I picked up,
I sliced my hands to bloody ribbons
Ignoring the pain, I continued
Until, finally, I finished
It was far from perfect, but it was still my soul none the less
I sat there for a while, admiring the lines that ran through it
From the places where the chunks had been glued back
Reveling in the simple wholeness
I took once last look, and picked up the hammer
The glue had not even dried.
That didn't matter; by the time I was finished,
There was nothing left but the old, familiar splinters
I bent down and picked up the nails,
Went out and retrieved my grieving inner self
Then, with hammer and nails in hand
I crucified myself
Every day I take another swing at the nails,
Another swing at my damaged soul
I watch the running crimson
And I embrace the growing pain
I've built a protective wall around that soul and cross
And painted smiling pictures on it
But the real reason it's really there
Is to keep you out and keep me in
So I sit here with my broken glass
My cross, nails, and hammer
My blood and blindfold
My guilt and guardian
And I wander the streets of my mind,
Looking for something
I know I won't allow myself to find
Release, assistance, reprieve, a savior.
That glass soul isn't very beautiful anymore.
Uhh. *blinkblink* Yeah. There you have it. To everyone I speak to on a
regular basis.don't freak out with the blood mentioned in there, alright? I
promise you I've been a good girl. It's just symbolic or whatever. Reviews
would be nice if you can actually come up with something to say. Jaa.
like this. Um.it's full of some pretty strange descriptions of how I view
the "interesting" inner sanctuary of my mind (pretty much a place you
should stay out of! ^^'') and how I treat myself, both consciously and
subconsciously. The poem came right along with a piece of artwork I did,
but while the poem's going to see the light of day, the drawing sure isn't!
Oh, if it explains anything, I wrote it while listening to "Crucify" by
Tori Amos. Anyway. Here it is.
Soul of Glass
Glass can be beautiful, until it's broken
Then the pieces fly everywhere
And it's impossible to piece together
The same is true with a glass soul
Perhaps it was once a beautiful thing, I don't know
Transparent and whole, to view the world through
Or perhaps it was like the sheet glass in the reject pile
Look upon as unique by some, but fit for no true purpose
I took the glass for granted,
But at the same time, I celebrated it every day
Through my glass soul, I observed the world
Seeing it as only one with such translucence can
Then they came.
They pounded, trashed, and tried to ruin it
But no matter what they threw, the glass remained unbroken
Cracked, but still whole
Then I came.
I pounded, trashed, and tried to ruin it
And under my persistence, the glass broke
Cracked and no longer whole
Reduced to fragments, scattered to the winds
Realizing what I'd done,
I chased after and picked up every last part
Then sat down to put them back together
With each sliver I picked up,
I sliced my hands to bloody ribbons
Ignoring the pain, I continued
Until, finally, I finished
It was far from perfect, but it was still my soul none the less
I sat there for a while, admiring the lines that ran through it
From the places where the chunks had been glued back
Reveling in the simple wholeness
I took once last look, and picked up the hammer
The glue had not even dried.
That didn't matter; by the time I was finished,
There was nothing left but the old, familiar splinters
I bent down and picked up the nails,
Went out and retrieved my grieving inner self
Then, with hammer and nails in hand
I crucified myself
Every day I take another swing at the nails,
Another swing at my damaged soul
I watch the running crimson
And I embrace the growing pain
I've built a protective wall around that soul and cross
And painted smiling pictures on it
But the real reason it's really there
Is to keep you out and keep me in
So I sit here with my broken glass
My cross, nails, and hammer
My blood and blindfold
My guilt and guardian
And I wander the streets of my mind,
Looking for something
I know I won't allow myself to find
Release, assistance, reprieve, a savior.
That glass soul isn't very beautiful anymore.
Uhh. *blinkblink* Yeah. There you have it. To everyone I speak to on a
regular basis.don't freak out with the blood mentioned in there, alright? I
promise you I've been a good girl. It's just symbolic or whatever. Reviews
would be nice if you can actually come up with something to say. Jaa.