Sometimes I wish I was living in a big glass house
With no furniture
Just me and my glass house

I wish it was placed in a big forest
With just trees around
Just me, my glass house and a big forest

I wish nobody would visit me
Because I want to be alone
Because I’m tired of being lonely
Just me, my glass house and a big forest
Alone

I wish to die in my glass house
Surrounded by trees
Alone
So nobody could mourn my death

Let me sail away on a boat
made of soda-lime glass
Let me float out to the middle of the ocean
as a messenger in a bottle
Let me lie there
cradled in the crook of the tumultuous sea
pressing my face against the curve of the glass
watching for the glint of neon fish
and great ocean leviathans
And, when I grow bored,
let the glass of my boat fracture and shatter
and sink
to the very bottom
so that the ocean can swallow its messenger
And in a thousand years, let all of my glass pieces
wash up on the golden sands
of some forgotten shore,
smoothed and beautiful.

I am fragile:

Tissue-Paper skin,
Silken heartstrings.
Yet I still can breathe.
This tenuous breeze.

Glass bones,
in my glass home.
One stone,
is all it takes to breach,
My glass throne.

I am Fragile:
Please, shout at me,
while I can barely see,
what "me," really means.

Please, tell me I'm wrong,
So I can guess why,
I'm going to cry,
A broken song.

I am the fragile song who beats in amorphous tune,
to no one else's beat.
Who's piano strings are plucked by someone else's keys.
And who's instructions are in the other room.
Locked with someone else's key.

I am Fragile:
Easily broken or damaged.
Flimsy or Insubstantial.
Delicate and vulnerable.

I am the frail,
Who lives on the sheer strength of will.

I read books and had the practice
wedding in Sunday school, where Benjamin
got to break the glass with his foot
while I watched--I watched films, I knew
what I looked forward to. As sure
as I knew my baby teeth would fall
out. But unprepared for five years old,
when my first loose tooth fell in.
Not me and him but me
and Sandrita, little milagra, on the swings,
she knocked into me and the tooth was
swallowed whole and nothing to show for it.
I had the tooth fairy pegged from day one--
how would she have have known to look
for the empty promise under my pillow?
Now every time you stretch your neck
to glance up at the moon, hair behind
your ear, roll up one sleeve and then
the other, every time I fall again to five,
unblinking eyes, something shatters and I have
to run my tongue over the gap in my gums,
leave a note for my mother so she can see
her girl smile gap-toothed for the fairy
who will never come. You tilt your head
towards me and I must take the promise
of the broken glass beneath Benjamin's foot
and swallow it whole.

Even after so long
the red glass still ****** my fingers
and I still see the world of eros love
as a dark room
full of people
with glowing red hearts in their hands
Strong and healthy, they walk into people's arms
with happy smiles and kisses
not a single cautious move is shown
not a single tear is shed in fear
I'm sitting on my knees
on the cold, hard floor
in the center
begging and crying
for someone to pick me up
even though I know
that it had always been my own hands
that lifted me
and that it will always be that way
My heart lays on the ground
the glow is dimmer than the shadow people
that walk around me
ignoring me
ignorant or self absorbed
they step on the already shattered pieces
grinding the red into a glass powder
Some people reach out and pull away their hands
laughing cruelly
teeth glinting red from the hearts they have already devoured
but my own is too wretched and tampered with
for even them to want it.

I don't think I can fix this alone anymore.

A lonely man, broken,
Crawls across the grass.
In his hands but one thing:
A heart made of glass.

His belongings were air . . .
The rest he left behind;
He crept slowly in search,
As time kept its bind.

As he crawled inch by inch,
Time passed the man by.
When he stopped for a moment,
To see his end growing nigh.

There, at last, he broke down;
His love yet to see birth --
When he knelt up from the ground,
And cried to the earth:

"What will be of this heart, what is it worth?!"

He tightened his grip,
On what he ever held dear --
But his grip became loose,
As his death became near.
Withering away, he let one plea be known:

"What will be of this heart? For this heart has no home!"