It's lonely here,

inside this prison of glass.

Walled in by the expectations of others.

Flickering images flit by,

flashing before my eyes.

Visions of the perfection

I must strive to attain,

But always, I fall short.

Like a perfect porcelain figure,

marred by a scratch. Blemished.

How I long to fly free,

to break from this cage of mirrors

and reveal the real me.

Before my soul becomes one

with the ghostly views of others.

Nothing but a silvered looking glass,

always a reflection, never myself.

Easily shattered by a

carelessly thrown stone.

It's lonely here,

inside this prison of glass.