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