Poem: Glass

I’m made of glass.

Thin. Brittle. Fragile.

Every step is like a gamble with gravity—

joints slipping from their sockets like they were never meant to stay,

like my body forgot how to hold itself together.

I wake up, and the first thought is: What will break today?

Will it be my shoulder?

My knee?

Or my heart, beating too fast like it’s trying to outrun this shell of skin I’m trapped in?

I’m glass that cracks under pressure,

hairline fractures forming from these dislocations,

fingers that bend backwards,

legs that give out without warning.

I’m standing on the edge of myself, waiting for the cracks to reach their breaking point,

to shatter.

And when it comes— it always comes—

it’s not a neat break.

It’s fire through my veins,

burning pain that screams louder than I can,

pain that hums beneath the surface,

a constant reminder that I am not whole.

I faint from a heartbeat that races for no reason,

seized by my body’s betrayal.

Paralyzed by the weight of it,

the world spinning away as I lie still,

willing myself to move,

but there’s nothing there.

No strength. No power.

I’m a glass sculpture on a ledge,

tilting, ready to fall.

And every breath is a prayer—

Please, not today. Not today.

But the thing about being glass is,

even if you don’t break,

the cracks are always there,

just waiting.

And I’m scared of what happens when I finally do shatter.

Because what then?

What’s left of a body already in pieces?

What’s left when you’ve been holding on so tight

just to survive?

I’m fragile, but I’m still here.

Broken, but unbreakable.

….For now

-Giusiana