The Glass

People born in houses don’t see The glass we have been put in It’s sides are sharp It’s covering is closed and we are in it Our mothers kept talking to us In a language they invented In a tone they created to scare us From becoming who we are The glass they have carved out Has drops of poison Thrown directly into it And it travelled to our throats Some of us are wiser than others Silent yet shouting our lungs out To remove the glass with our half cut finger And to write freedom with the blood spots imagine the throat full of poison drops Imagine the pain of shouting for once Imagine the shards of glass Cutting your nipples and stomach loss of breath is a way of life Our skin colour is differently pale The pale you see on prisoners Locked in for a crime they haven’t committed No matter how many times we break the glass No matter how many times we eat it The little girls in us still live there In the glass house, made for imaginary dolls