I am glass.
Glass is a strange thing.
Thick enough
It can with stand more pressure than most things can not
Refusing to break
It is strong.
Transparent.
Bullet proof even
It lets all the light in
And even more light out
It can be smooth
Beautiful
However when damaged,
As I am now
It becomes weak in places
So Fragile the wind can shatter it
Thin and rough  
Holding itself together with cracks
Trying not to show it’s chips.
When burned,
Glass turns black.
Smokey
Changing the transparency dark.
No longer letting one see inside.
Not showing what once shined through.
Casting shadows on everything around it.
Glass tries to trace the scars life has left behind.
Tries covering those cracks.
But they are forever
Reminding glass that at one point,
It fought for something.
It believed in something
Even if it left it scared, cracked.
I am glass.