Monday Poetry Train-Big Freaking Windows

I dug up an old one since I’ve missed weeks of the poetry train.  I always meant to go back and redo this one.  I still might.   It’s completely disjointed, lacking in style, but I think there’s something salvageable.

This monster poured out in one rough go after… er, a period of intense anger…  😉

  window.jpg

Big, Freaking Windows

We are, each of us,
Alone in our own skins,
Wearing designs not of our own.
This face came with the package.
Took me years to grow into it
And sometimes, I’m still not so sure.

Inside, on the other hand
I’m still growing.
I’m like most anyone else
Who hasn’t shoved themselves
Into a certain type of box.
You know the one.

In that box, you don’t ask questions.
As a child, I thought it a stupid rule.
I asked questions.
Some that got my face slapped
By extreme fundamental relatives
Who use their hands for violence,
Instead of their mouths for a kind answer.

Their faith existed in a dark place.
Harsh and unrelenting,
It left no room for growth.
I would sit alone in their midst
Seeing early
That a closed mind is like a disease.
It turns people into walking, empty husks,
Light and vision sucked dry,
With black hole mouths- always open
For that daily spoon feeding of
Death and damnation.

To me, it seemed they
Worshiped the word, should.
It’s a four letter word.
Such power it has.
Taking life on the end of a pointing finger,
Shifting about,
Becoming a solid mass that
Forms into a four-cornered square.
An airtight box with triple strength, super-glued sides
And no windows.

They would mill inside their colorless boxes,
Their conversations never changing.
“The end of times is near!”
This is true, I was constantly assured,
By the microchips, you see
That are implanted in our bodies…
By the government…
At birth.

I’m not so popular in that part of the
Family now.
I think it’s because I wondered aloud
That perhaps there’s more spirit
In one act of simple human kindness,
Than in a lifetime of following rules.
Of not ever cutting one’s hair,
Never wearing makeup,
Or gasp, a woman in a pair of pants?

I thought that maybe all that energy
Spent
Adhering to these rules made one
Blind
To what should be beautiful,
Life-affirming,
And perfectly clear.

That is, if you’re reasonable.

Mostly, I think I wasn’t too popular
Because of my box.
My box with its vibrant colorful skin.
My box with its windows.
Big, freaking floor to ceiling windows.
The kind you can see through,
Walk through if you like.

For in my box,
My windows even have latches.

———-

For much better poetry today, take a ride on Rhian’s Monday Poetry Train. <g>

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About Rinda Elliott

Writer.I love unusual stories and credit growing up in a family of curious life-lovers who moved all over the country. Books and movies full of fantasy, science fiction and romance kept us amused, especially in some of the stranger places. For years, I tried to separate my darker side with my humorous and romantic one. I published short fiction, but things really started happening when I gave in and mixed it up. When not lost in fiction, I love making wine, collecting music, gaming and spending time with my husband and two children. I’m represented by Miriam Kriss of the Irene Goodman Agency.
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13 Responses to Monday Poetry Train-Big Freaking Windows

  1. gautami says:

    I liked both. Much food for thought in there!

  2. relliott4 says:

    I couldn’t figure out what you meant by both until I looked at this thing and realized the bold in the middle looks like a title. LOL! Sorry about that. 😉

  3. julia says:

    There’s so much to like in this poem. I’m glad I got a chance to read it.
    I loved these lines:
    ‘Who use their hands for violence,
    Instead of their mouths for a kind answer.’
    And:
    ‘For in my box,
    My windows even have latches.’

  4. Lisa Andel says:

    By the microchips, you see
    That are implanted in our bodies…
    By the government…
    At birth.

    Sorry to agree with you, but you’re better off in a colorful box with big windows (and latches).

  5. connetta says:

    I love this poem..relate to it completely..everything about this poem touched me and brought back memories..love it. I feel as though you touched every aspect of my life – down to the wearing no make up and letting my hair grow the way I want it,mom slapping me, never giving me answers never hearing me.. finding my own religion ..all of this touched me. thank you.

  6. relliott4 says:

    I was lucky in that my parents had broken free of this world. They only had kind hands for me. But they grew up in that world and unfortunately, my brother, sisters and I got a taste of it too often.

    Oh, and yeah Lisa, some of them really believe that sort of paranoid stuff. 🙂

    Glad you guys like my “needs big work” offering.

  7. relliott4 says:

    I really ought to say that not everyone in that religion was like this. Not all the extended relatives were unkind. Judgemental still, yes, but only a few used their hands. On us anyway.

  8. Joy Renee says:

    i can identify with so much of this. it sounds very much like the sect I was raised in and broke free from thirteen years ago. this gives me shivvers.

  9. This is some good food for thought, and it fits into a conversation I was having just tonight, too, about not fitting in and needing to grow into ourselves.

    Fascinating stuff, Rinda. Thanks for sharing, even if you think it needs work.

  10. Ann says:

    I liked it. Definitely had some food for thought. And I don’t think it needs much work at all. 🙂

  11. I like this poem. It has such strong feeling and it speaks truth. Especially the line about “That perhaps there’s more spirit
    In one act of simple human kindness,
    Than in a lifetime of following rules.

  12. Julia H says:

    I found this poem to say a mouth full. Of course I didn’t know my family members were slapping my kids – all hell would have broke out and my hands would have been hitting them – as I say I would lay hands on them without prayer. I too grew up in boxes – solid- without windows. Thank God my husband found truth and taught it. I became free. I know to discover true love isn’t found in any book or rule. It is by accepting oneself and others without preconceived ideas or expectations. That is what love is. Christ came to teach love and the religious world killed him for one cannot control one if fear isn’t there. What a shame religion thinks that way. To know God is to allow oneself to be free – no box – and all others to be free – no boxes or rulers. That is what Christ tried to teach. Your poem was just that – teaching love the way it should be. Thank God you are free. I love you!
    Mom
    P.S. I have no judgement or anger toward my upbringing, but I am thankful I am free to be me. I know God still loves me too…….just the way I am.

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