“People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones,”
but the pastor’s daughter thought,
“people who live in glass houses shouldn’t,”
because her life felt like a glass house
a fish bowl or a zoo exhibit
and it made her uncomfortable
until she saw the best level of comfort available to her
could be gained by smiling politely at the onlookers,
a docile captive relaxing on the concrete.
These days almost everyone I know lives in a glass house.
The glass is made of backlit screens
and you can project anything you want there
a polite smile, a superior sneer,
an angst-ridden mask of mystique
a hip air of disinterestedness
while inside your house you push keys, click mice,
and wrestle with your death wish
for a stone to come crashing through
bringing down the house,
letting in the weather.
Julia Bloom 
I think the glass house I lived in as a pastor’s daughter was the seed for my co – dependencies. It feels good have gotten more honest. Hard to break the habit of smiling and pretending to know people who seem to know me. But I now find joy in asking who they are and learning their stories. I’m living with an open door and closed shades on my glass house.
Well said! Thanks for engaging with the poem. I love the idea of the open door and closed shades. A healthy balance.