glass houses

living in glass houses
made of one way glass
people can’t see me
no throwing stones
can’t bust out
still making phone calls
words fail to paint
the picture
that I’m beginning to see
so clearly now
this language I speak
belongs only to me
and there is no translation
the story I tell
doesn’t bring nods of familiarity
cold glass house
is only comfort
against harsh question
the battle is mine
I will always fight
it is my nature
I plead for change of venue
warm beach cottage
with co-counsel
who can argue the elements
and stir the fire