Glass and Wind
by Ash Beige Baby (This thought has been haunting me these days But It's okay now, Thanks to my friend too.) Somewhere out there, I sense a soft smirk, a careless posture The kind that finds pain entertaining, as long as it belongs to someone else. I receive the signal. They thought cracks meant collapse. Never have they ever asked what pressure does to stone? Nature never shapes gently. Even mountains are not born, they are forced. I believe every hard path my body walks now recently is not punishment. It is calibration. And I am not sorry that I am not breaking. I'll probably just let the wind laugh, right before it turns sand into glass. I remember when I was nineteen. Back then, a cowardly crowd, loud, small, trash senior envious kept shouting my sister’s name through school hallways for one unforgivable crime: being visible, being pretty, being admired. Then the awful came not long after, a severe car crash. Bones fractured, weeks in intensive care A body of little 15 year...