Glass House

Glass House

 

You stared at your feet and waited

I drove for hours through april rain

I’m wishing it was last Saturday when I still didn’t know you

 

Your mouth looks like broken glass

It’s the only thing I’m looking at

Appropriate to the sharpness of your tongue

 

Your words cut through my home

My walls are made of windows

You see right through me

 

You’re louder than the disposal on the kitchen sink

I’m louder than the thoughts I think

Staring at the mess we made on the counter

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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