How Is Your Heart?

You send me Charles Bukowski poems
to let me know you're still alive
As if you will gain my sympathy from
another man's failed life
Nothing but a pretty boy with a fragile
You shattered so young
You shattered hoping your pieces
would fit alongside all the broken
glass on the floor from when the
mirror fell from a slammed door
The men of the family were always
made of glass
Never realizing that in this world you
have to be made of something
Your sharp edges only get stuck to the bottom of our feet

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