Giano: Viewing the world

writing this, seems hardest, my mind whirls around cluttered. I’m merely picking out detail.

When looking out to an open window, the feeling is a whim of freedom.
inside the four corners of the room, escaping away from the haphazard
toil of books and writing. before I remember, a poets escape is in his
writings, I am not one.

my right eye has been fidgeting quite
often, like a nervous tap in some ways, its beginning to be disturbing,
I am only confronted and maybe comforted by the reason thats its just
stress. something free nowadays i say to myself.

baggages have
been the flavor for this week, I am troubled emotionally, I will not
indulge in spacing it online, this blog will never do justice, however,
i may be threading on deep peril.

I snap back at the window,
perhaps my problems have become my four corners, perhaps my worries are
the haphazard toil, perhaps the nervous tap of my right eyelid reminds
me.

a poets escape is in his writings, sadly I am not one.

my window, though appealing, has shards of broken glass.
I dare not cross it, my heart may get wounded.

resting my arms, breathing deep, locked chest.