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My Glass House
Sitting in my glass house
I feel so fragile, forced
to look without, not shelter
from the things that disturb
me, while I am on display,
subject to be analyzed.
My mind seems it could
shatter, as I try to find a
balance from all those conflicting
factors that surround me.
So easy it seems sometimes
that I could be broken down,
I could weep even as I call
upon the wrath of thunder
and wind.
My house might be brought
down by the accusing stones from
the hands that have no right,
all that smiling hypocrisy.
Left exposed with nothing
to shelter me, not even my false
refuge to hide behind, forced
to see what I have known all
along, left feeling so helpless.
Challenged by the shifting
ideologies, searching for some
reconciliation within myself,
I try not to bleed as the slivered
glass around me calls out to
something inside me.
9:03 AM - 4/12/2006 -
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