Manya Saxena Poet Verse

A Window

The first time that he touched me, 
He told me that I was a window,
standing, raw and bare, waiting to
welcome anyone or anything that 
passed me by. He told me that, 
everyone was to be embraced 
within the warm home of my body
and I tried to do that. I remember, 
hating it, hating myself, hating this
world but he said that it will all make
sense and I listened. The next time 
that he touched me, I touched him 
too and tried to make him realize the 
pain, the agony, the resistance but
he seemed to relish it like his salmon. 
He told me that I was like a window, 
radiant and reachable and quivering 
the sun that rose above us. I took up
a knife and drew flowers on my 
body because I thought I deserved it. 
I felt my system failing, my brain 
shutting and my limbs giving up. The 
next time that he touched me, 
I took that godforsaken knife and made 
flowers on his body, to let him know 
that my body is mine and not a piece 
of meat, firm and tender. I wasn't raw 
or bare or warm. I was a window but 
with metal panes, cage to only welcome 
the stars, the light, the flowers. I was a 
window but not a door that welcomes 
everyone or everything. I was a window 
but not as he thought I was and I wrote 
this on his body as he left. 
“I am, indeed, A window”, I said to myself as 
I shut myself close.

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