if i were a window

if i were a window

i would be one with a wooden frame—one that stood out not only the test of time, but the saltiness of rainwater when a wind would shake its hand

i would be a window wrapped in some silly hazy curtain that dances and moves pretentiously, when in fact, it is so worn out that its corners lost their stitches

i would welcome the high-pitched chirpings of the birds the way i greet the faces of every generation that sits inside

i would open myself up so that their eyes could linger on the lost innocence and impurity of the world outside

if i were a window

i would let the misunderstood ones to stand in front of me while holding a cup of coffee, thinking about the muddle of life

i would let the growing young ones to sneak out during the old hours of the night and i would still let them sneak in when the sun shines golden in the morning sky

i would let the mothers scream terrifyingly (but also silently curse them) as they call their kids who wouldn't wanna be home in a homeless home—all they could do is sit on their beds with enlightened bricks in front of their faces while they plan another heinous crime

if i were a window

i would be one with a hinge so strong and firm and i would allow myself to open and close the way my owners would want me to

because if i were a window

i would not be a naughty and frightened one who squeaks and cries at the touch of a hand

i would be different

i would be normal

i would be gentle with them

could you?