People in Glass Houses

People in Glass Houses

People in glass houses,

living shattered lives,

they smile through thin reflections,

pretending truth survives.

Each pane a quiet warning,

each wall too clear to hide,

they dance between the fault lines,

with grief just tucked inside.

They laugh like it’s rehearsed,

they cry without the sound,

their stories float like feathers,

then smash against the ground.

No curtains drawn for sorrow,

no doors to block the pain,

just glass that shows the damage,

then breaks and breaks again.

They live as if unbroken,

but every step betrays

the cracks they keep on walking,

the shards they can’t erase.

So if you pass them gently,

don’t tap or stare too long,

some glass was never tempered,

and some was never strong.