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.