My Glass Heart

I like to stand out on the streets

Handing out glass fragments to anyone with a face and name.

Every day

I collect the broken pieces from the trash

Rinse and repeat

Each day making the fragments

smaller

and

smaller.

Sometimes the glass cuts me

And I don’t bleed

Or maybe I do bleed

And it dries skintight over my wounds.

I piece the fragments together and there are holes

Missing pieces kept by people

Who thought they looked pretty.


Then some came back

My fragments grown into jewels.

They helped me cover up the holes

And the heart starts to beat.


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Busybody
Poetry
Free Verse
writing Busybody
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