I have not much knowledge about how glass houses are. About how sound does or does not carry out the inner strains, about how light does or does not illuminate some darker days.
I have not much knowledge about people living in glass houses, either. Or, about people who are living, breathing glass houses themselves.
Transparent at a glance, breakable, vulnerable, shiny, smooth, somewhat reflecting the moss covered branches, somewhat maintaining the authenticity of the pitter pattering raindrops.
On days, I feel like a criminal, on my own accord, when I can not scream, can not let the tears run free. Because they'll see. And it's not dark, so they'll see inevitably and then they'll talk.
Talk in hushed whispers, then talk in loud whispers.
They'll talk in mild judgement, they'll talk in greater ignorance.
I feel like a stale sandwich at times, the one you'd throw away anyway. After the cheese, the lettuce, the cucumbers aren't edible, aren't fresh anymore. All bitten down and broken down into acids and what not by bacterias and what not. #HUmanity#Women#yqbaba#yqquotes#poetsofinstagram#yqtale
