23,
she been grounded the whole time.
Been surrounded by the lone window,
forgotten the comfort of a peeping shutter.
Standing on their tippy toes
to look at the view.
Warmth in a cozy small shower
rather than a spacious cold tub.
Accompaning buildings,
rather than a lone window.
Without grills to be held back
the view was clear as sky.
Fresh air circulated,
rather than the stale air she tasted.
Spirits risen high up
to level 23.
Only to drop back down,
to the ground.
YOU ARE READING
The lone window
PoetryPoetry, possibly. . Feelings seem to come out in words, words can cut and scar, scars can help to make one become better. It is either you climb up or you fall. I chose to fall.
