Glass House

Our clan is crumbling

behind closed doors

sealed with pride

and locked by sorrow,

seen by all

yet known by none.

 

The walls are glass

but windows opaque

reflect suspicion

with a smile

that will never reach the door.

 

A perpetual lock

with a key broken by

polite declinations 

and misinformation,

hangs like a cross

around bare throats.

 

Loneliness is the veil

that covers our eyes,

and slows our heartbeats

as we wait

for the self-imposed walls

to finally shatter.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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