The not-broken glass

Everything feels like broken glass. I hate it because when I look again, the glass is not broken, it's still there, forbidden me to live. I'm still the lost soul swimming in the fish bowl, my wings are still short and i'm sitting here with this strong urge to fly. But when I look again the glass is still there. But it feels broken. I can't get to realize where is the little open part of this window, I'm the butterfly trapped behind the glass on the living room, looking for a way out. There's no way out. There is no way out. I'm tired of not having time to break down, to feel sad and cry. I'm tired of feeling the only human in this chimp planet, of asking for permission to live my life, of trying to explain to anyone how I feel. They wont understand.  They can't understand. I'm tired of this broken glass that wont brake at all. I'm tired, tired. Sometimes I feel just about to give up, and then, something comes to make me feel it's still worthy. And I'm also tired of that. Of trying to feel I know the answers of the math book, of trying of making myself feel I'm over this mad world, because when I just managed  to accomplish it, something comes to make me realize I'm still tied to something. And I'm tired of that. I'm tired, tired, because when I look again, the glass just feels broken, but it's not.
It's still there, but it feels broken.
I'm not better than anyone. I can't be. I wont be. I'm not stronger. I cry and I bleed just like anyone else.

...maybe I'm the one who's broken....

...maybe, I'm the one who's broken.