People Are Windows

So, I wrote this for English class a few weeks ago.
The prompts were really choppy and precise, which I definitely never excell in :) However, I love my English teacher, so I tried to make her proud. This isn't as great as I wanted it to be, but...You know. :P
Thanks!


People are windows.
We're best when open,
Though we prefer to remain closed.
We are often looked at,
stared at,
idly seen,
noticed.
But not often are our curtains
fully spread.
We hide ourselves behind gossamer veils,
We keep ourselves shut inside, when all else fails.
And countless painted faces pass us
and spot us
and see us.
Blindly, of course.
Because people are windows.
And though we're only alive when open,
we prefer to remain closed.
We're scared to lift the wooden panes too far,
in fear they'll catch a glimpse.
We're horrified of what they'll see
of what they'll discover
when we open ourselves up.
We don't want them to see past the perfect paints
the velvet drapes
the tinted glass
we've labored so long to tarnish.
And now, as I walk these streets,
as the sun bends its aching neck,
I see that people are windows.
They think they're strong, and sturdy.
They think themselves to be the supporting foundation.
But really, they're very timid.
They never open.
Always closed...
forever, the supporting factor
to a house of a mortar much greater.
But when we remove the aging bricks
collapse the doorways
conformities,
to the ground,
we see that all that's left is the windows
the glass, shattered from the wreckage.
But still most prominent, you see
because windows are glass
and glass bends light
and hope
and faith.
And as they gather round to diminish the damage,
they will see themselves, staring back at them,
like the glass has eyes,
like the windows, are alive.
Because people are windows.
And we're so, so much better when we're open.
When the sun can swim inside of us
when our hearts have voice to sing.
But we're ignorant creatures, all the same
and we think it best to stay shut.
To lock out the chances
and the spirits
and the opportunities ahead of us.
But someday, I think we're all gonna figure out
that curtains only last so long.
That someday, the panes will give out,
and we'll be forced to break.
And maybe then,
when the glass is in pieces,
someone will come by and see us,
in the form of their own painted face,
and they will know that finally,
we know ourselves.
Because, in the end,
People are windows,
and we're best when open.