What fragile lives they were born with, they bemoaned their fate yet again.
People looked through them, and didn't even realise how much that hurt.
Their souls scratched by every assault, and no one cared.
Cringing even if they heard a slightly raised sound, and sometimes shattering at
it too.
They were rubbed up the wrong
way more than once and couldn’t do a thing about it, except bear it with stoic
silence.
They were used according to convenience and shut out when they were
not required. Didn't anyone realise how unfair it was.
What fragile lives they led, bemoaned the
window panes of the house, yet again.
Writing as part of Team Purple Rain for the prompt, 'Fragile Lives'