I keep returning
to the house of glass
just to admire its beauty
It shines
It radiates
everything
but it is a lie
nothing is pretty
nothing is perfect
As I trip over my shoe lace
my shoulder hits the glass
and it all comes crashing down.
It is a lie because
nothing is pretty
nothing is perfect
and as for me
and the glass house
we are less than nothing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
keep improving. i can see alot of potential in this poem. TRY HARDER