“Made of Glass” by Brian Marshall
I smile and walk and talk,
A puppet with no puppeteer.
Look how I raise my hand to wave.
Look how I open my schoolbook and obediently direct my eyes to the page.
You speak and, marvel! I respond appropriately.
I have not forgotten the words,
Even if I have forgotten their meaning.
Line us up and wind the key and watch us act our parts.
Breakfast, class, lunch, class, dinner, bed.
Breakfast, class, lunch, class, dinner, bed.
Breakfast, class, lunch, class, dinner, bed!
But don’t you see?
Someone turned out the lights and the audience left ages ago.
We mime this farce for no one.
Breakfast, class, lunch, class, dinner, bed.
Breakfast, class, lunch, class, dinner, bed.
I am made of glass.
Glass on the outside. Do not tap. Exceedingly fragile.
Glass on the inside, grinding away with every motion.
The sweetest gesture is horrible when you are made of glass.
If I were to hand you a rose and give you a courtly bow,
It would cut my heart to shreds.
I smile at you with bloody teeth.
Pack me in a case of softest velvet and let me rest, let me be motionless.
A glass figurine of a boy who used to be.
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