i wrote a poem once

There was once a girl
Who lived in a glass house,
But knew not to throw stones.
Instead, she looked out
At the beauty that she could not touch
But only see,
Because she lived in a glass house
And she wasn’t allowed out.
But she was fine with it
Because that is all she knew,
Until one day there was a boy outside.
He came up to one of the walls
(Or were they all just windows?)
And put his hand up against it.
The little girl walked toward him
And waved.
He just stared at her,
Shrugged,
And walked away.
He left a hand print on the window,
And she put hers against it
And cried.