deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Glass House
I live in a glass house, with glass walls and glass ceilings.
It's more fragile than I.
Two words, "I'm depressed"
Can shatter the walls and crack the ceiling.
The cracks are held together by care-bear Band-Aids,
The same my mom would put on my blisters and cuts when I was smaller.
We don't talk about those cracks,
When we do they seem to get bigger.
The ceiling above my bed is the most cracked,
Some of them are ancient,
Others are recent.
My mother ignores the cracks,
She thinks they'll heal some day.
Does she know that some day will never arrive?
My father acknowledges them,
Yet he does nothing.
Is ignorance truly bliss to him?
My siblings fear the cracks,
They know all to well what they represent.
I hope their ceilings aren't as cracked as mine.
Sometimes the walls shatter.
Normally after my parents have finished quite a large sum of wine.
They quickly repair the walls.
Heaven forbid anyone think we aren't perfect.
I live in a glass house.
Cracked and broken.
Band-aids almost everywhere.
Hiding our imperfections, with colorful bears
It's more fragile than I.
Two words, "I'm depressed"
Can shatter the walls and crack the ceiling.
The cracks are held together by care-bear Band-Aids,
The same my mom would put on my blisters and cuts when I was smaller.
We don't talk about those cracks,
When we do they seem to get bigger.
The ceiling above my bed is the most cracked,
Some of them are ancient,
Others are recent.
My mother ignores the cracks,
She thinks they'll heal some day.
Does she know that some day will never arrive?
My father acknowledges them,
Yet he does nothing.
Is ignorance truly bliss to him?
My siblings fear the cracks,
They know all to well what they represent.
I hope their ceilings aren't as cracked as mine.
Sometimes the walls shatter.
Normally after my parents have finished quite a large sum of wine.
They quickly repair the walls.
Heaven forbid anyone think we aren't perfect.
I live in a glass house.
Cracked and broken.
Band-aids almost everywhere.
Hiding our imperfections, with colorful bears
Published 16th Jan 2018
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A lifetime ago, a wiser man once said to me when I expressed my fears to him: "In life we tend to cross a lot of rivers we will never come to." Grasping onto this insight I have since engaged the present and have not troubled myself over cracks in the ceilings, nor glass walls, nor perceived imperfections. [My own house keeps an untidy yard, for winds and rains to play in]. But that is beside the fact that this is an exceptional, and insightful poem.
