Ones True Self

Part 1, A Lavish Lifestyle

this one is with my mom pet owl named owlbert he's a nice little owl well behaved small thing 

"hey sis wanna hear this poem i made" vee asked me with a small sot smile "sure why not lay it on me" i slowly made my way to the chare that i found in the corner of the room and waited for her to start

"it's called stained glass" she said with a look of pride i sat silent letting her continue 

"Beautiful, delicate, easily shattered.
It fades in and out of existence, sometimes a key feature in history, sometimes barely existing.
Abandoned by people's imagination only to come back and be used again.
Bringing joy to everyone that sees it and getting nothing in return, an ornament.
Something to be viewed, analysed and judged, but never looked into.

Because it's harder to look through something tinted with remanence of shade than something clear.
It's too much work to help when it's already in pieces. Broken and welded back together in a kaleidoscope of patterns.
It doesn't matter that it was them that designed it like that, that it used to be clear and bright. Not dulled and filtered through shades of enigma.
That it had no control over what they turned it into.
Because they wanted something beautiful.

They wanted an ornament.
They turned the clear white light, spiralling through the crystal glass, into dulled colour, a façade of beauty.
They forgot they could once look through.
They didn't think that they needed to look through.
Or that IT needed to be looked through.

So pretty, so beautiful, and yet so easily broken.
So easy to completely destroy.
It has already been broken once. Already smashed and welded into false beauty.
Why not break it again?
It doesn't take much to send it crashing down. Shattering at your feet.
The beauty splinted in the fragments of memory.
Memory of each person who's simply admired and walked past.
Memory of everyone who never looked deeper.
Who never looked through the shining colours.

And when it lays shattered at your feet, it's only then that it hurts.
Only when you've broken it, does it slice through your skin.
Only when you've destroyed the surfers level beauty will you see the true danger.
Only when it's broken does it cut like a knife.
Because it can't hurt until it's broken.
It can't cut until you let it.
It won't fight until you make it.
Because no matter how much it hurts, it will never hurt more than the feeling of being shattered.

But they don't focus on the fragmented beauty at their feet.
They just focus on the shining scarlet blood as it drips onto the smooth, hard cellophane. Because they'll never admit that the pain is their fault.
They'll never admit that they've broken a piece of history, a piece of art, a beautiful ornament.
Because it's only now that it's broken that they start to look through it.
And they don't like how much they can see.

But they'll ignore it.
They want their beauty too much to leave it shattered on the floor.
They will pick it up, ignoring the warnings of blood slipping through their fingers.
They won't think that the blood is a warning.
A sign.
A cry to stop.
They still need their beauty.
So, they'll wash off the thick red liquid drawn from them by the glass they broke.
Then they'll try and glue it back together.
Into a new pattern, a new façade.
A new life for it.

More people to see it as an ornament.
More people to look past instead of through.
More people to use the beauty for joy without giving it anything in return.
More people to be captivated by the brilliant shades.
More people to miss the cracks and fragments of the past.

More.

People.

Not.

To

See.

After she'd finished reading, I just sat there. Stunned. Yet again, Vee had found a way to surprise me. she had expected a basic, superficial poem. and i think the rest of the family was looking just as shocked as i was but then again vee always does this just as i was about to say something my older brother walked in the house with his headphones in and a hat on his head "hunter" i said with a look of disapproval he knows that he is not supposed to have his hat on in the house.

"i know luz i'll take it off" hunter was alway a female top pick, some men to he was on the cover of teen magazine like ten times  

stunning am i right smart boy just way to proper for me but i can say anything about that. "IM THE MAN WOMAN OF THE HOUSE" oh how can i forget the ring leader herself that is eda clawthorn my mother

the head of this house and then there's me hi my name is Luz Noceda-Clawthorn why am i not on a magazine i don't know i just don't want to be but that might change with the new development coming soon.