Everyone has a house
made of glass
made of pieces
made up of our past
a disguise for our feelings.
They reflect what we want others to see,
a mirage of who we really want to be.
The edges they glimmer with a now long gone hope.
Don't let anyone see the reflections a joke.
The walls they shudder
with each ragged breath,
threatening to splinter,
threatening to break.
If someone comes and you let them in
they'll shatter your house
and its perfect facade;
and when the time comes
as it usually does
they will leave
and you'll have to start building again.
YOU ARE READING
where tears may fall.
Poesiawords unspoken and lost, skittering away to plant themselves on paper. i'd love to hear feedback [it may or may not be vital for my self esteem]; thanks for taking the time to read my sad, silly thoughts. [lowercase intended.]
