I Am Glass
Whispers are all I hear.
I can hear you talking,
whispering things,
excluding me.
Pain.
The prickle of tears behind my eyes,
but I won't let them out.
Can't show them that it hurts.
I am glass.
I am glass, cold, and clear.
Closed doors.
Whispering, berating me, and what I have done.
But how are you any better,
Converging and whispering about me?
Hypocrites.
Hypocritical of what I do,
but when you do it it's fine.
Two-faced bullies.
Throwing accusations at the weak.
Never listening to them trying to explain.
"I understand", she says.
But you don't.
You don't know the pain like I do.
You don't understand.
The shadows closing in,
the friendly look of the razor.
But I will not indulge.
I will not give in.
I am glass,
and you the angry child
throwing rocks at me.
Whispers and lingering looks.
Excluded.
Sitting thinking, "Who have I chased away this time?,
Who is here for me?"
No one.
I am glass and you cannot affect me.
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