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Dont treat me like glass
Because you think Im fragile
Treat me like glass
Because I am beautiful but breakable
Waking up before dawn
The air seems to be made of
g l a s s
Satin curtains hang from a window,
Wind seeping in through the
c r a c k
Memories stick like honey
Resonating in my head, a
d r e a m
Wondering what might've become of those things,
As I lay there half
a s l e e p
But the world seemed so different
Dull things were changed to
a r t
So I concluded, it is quite an odd feeling
To wake up with a stranger's
h e a r t
Water whispers, froths and bubbles.
Tiny bodies swim in doubles,
Schooling along the edge of their world
Where the fish tank ends.

A panting tongue creates a mist;
Soft golden fur, tail in a twist,
Barking at the outside world
Where the window ends.

Poised and tense, smooth muscles coil
Whiskers twitch with internal turmoil
To track a leaf beyond her world
Where the sliding door ends.

Dreary shivers, dark and damp,
God's distant voice my only lamp.
I can only gape at the mad, mad world
Where my glass cage ends.
I'm supposed to be doing French but I felt contemplative.
Annie 7d
My thoughts are confusing.
I love them, but hate them and I can never tell if they are trying to raise me up or destroy me. I will look at myself in the mirror and think that I look pretty. I will look at myself an hour later and want to shatter the mirror with my forehead and smear the blood from my glass cuts all over my face as makeup to go to work. What difference does an hour make!?
we love an accidentally indecisive brain
Kyle Sep 30
I made a glass wall;
To see things clearly and to protect myself.
But all through this years;
I was drowning with fear.
I wasn't sure anymore,
If this things were all true;
I feel blue.
But what can I do?
After all, I made this wall.
But when I saw it get shattered;
I actually felt relieved.
Cross Boundry Sep 23
I can't see me unless I have a mirror.
I can see everyone through that glass.
But they are looking at themselves.
Hoshi Sep 23
The ache
The tearing in my stomach
The yearning for something that isn't food
Not food for thought
But something that fills me up
Thick raindrops that sink beneath your skin and into your bones
Being soaked all the way through into your heart
Feeling that electricity that nobody else can spark
The weight of water on your face
Pricking your eyes
and running its way down your hair
All of it
All that love and mystery and deepness
that's being in love with being alive

Sure the stars are pretty
The deep blackness of the never-ending pit that is sky
The entirety of its beauty
You expect the night to frame the stars delicately
But if I were the night sky
I'd swallow them whole

Give me a love for living
And I shall make myself whole
There will be nore more broken pieces
Only chips
Only cracks
But that does not make me any less whole
For a window that is cracked is still a window
Smash the glass if you must, yet
do it gently using soft hammers.
Catch the fury in your breath and
release its image on the pane.

The goal is not destruction but creation,
to leave behind something cracked
yet still whole, hanging precariously together,
a reminder that we are all shards about to fall.

Tap and if it forms a line tap again,
until a lip forms a mouth, maybe yours,
a tear- an eye like your mother’s,
again, your father’s shattered brow.

Leave enough of you behind
for them to complete.
Gentrify the other glasses with
the genealogy of all your pain.

Make everything a museum of
all the world’s shattered glass
that none dare destroy  lest
even they fall apart
Nathalie Sep 7
Splashes of color
Paint the morning sky
Shadow silhouettes
Dancing in the morning light
Freckles of dew
Pressed against the glass
Mirrors of infinity
Reflected in their eyes

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