The Broken


We are not poetry
We will never be eternal, never be set in place forever
We don’t always rhyme, and the beautiful words don’t tumble off our lips like the others
We are not even and perfectly spaced
Every step closer you take to me I want to take a step back, but run to you at the same time

Go on and shatter me, I know you will because they always do
Like a broken window pane with sharp edges, no one will ever rough mine out
I’m lost in this ocean of uncertainty- the current is pulling me under as it whispers “will you stay or leave him”
All of my broken pieces on the pavement are too far away for sidewalk chalk and footprints to heal
You are my drug; addictive but dangerous and I know in my gut something isn’t right

Why do I keep pretending that we are perfect?

I can’t let you see my broken window pane or how the words in the poem you write don’t match with the one in my heart
I can’t let you see the scars I carry around like baggage- too afraid for me to let go in case they open again

If you are going to, then please go on and shatter me to prove that you are just like all the others
Sign your name on my heart and I will let you hand cut a scar onto my body that goes deeper than the skin can heal

I will let you in to see the ugly, but I will not forget that darling, we will never be the beautiful, faultless poetry we picture in our dreams
Break me, tear me apart, so that I can start to put myself back together again, bit by bit, piece by piece
I’m held together by glue and faltering bravery and duct tape and fragile dreams

So maybe, just maybe, when you look at me, you will see a beautiful and broken masterpiece.

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