When I was a little girl

I had a little accent.

And even though I was a little girl -

I couldn't have been older than seven -

I was teased a lot.

And now I'm not so little

But I'm still teased behind my back

About my hair

My clothes

My accent

I'm teased for being me.

 

When I was a little girl

With my little accent

With my little clothes

And my little boots

The words didn't affect me.

But now the words have become sneers

And glares

and sharp comments

And now, as I tread

In my not-so-little boots

Those words turn to stones.

A threat to my little glass heart.

 

But little girls

Shouldn't throw rocks in glass houses.

Little girls,

As they tell me,

Should be kind

Should be obedient

Should ignore the comments

Should not fight

Should not throw stones

Lest they break their little glass hearts.

But can't they tell?

My little glass heart

Has already been shattered.

Can't they see the glue smeared across it

Clouding the surface

My effort to fix it?

Well, the others can.

They give me stones

Inviting themselves into that glass house.

I stupidly hand them the key to my glass house;

My glass heart.

They throw stones.

The glass shatters and falls around me.

I am ruined.