It lays in pieces on the floor and everyday I step around the broken glass.
Barefoot, I taunt the shards. Cut me. Cut me.
Too afraid to scrape the bits into the trash, forever gone, it lays there.
Tomorrow I might manage.
Tomorrow I might let it go. Maybe then I'll walk without looking down.
But I know better than that.
Tomorrow will be just like today and it will still lay in pieces on the floor.
Too afraid to scrape the bits into the trash, it lays there.
It's a metaphor for what I want.
I want it to pick itself back up. Put itself back together again.
But it doesn't.
It lays in pieces on the floor and everyday I step around the broken glass.
Tomorrow I might manage.
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this is tragically beautiful and i felt every word you said.
ReplyDeletei cried.
Thank you for understanding the emotions behind this piece. My only wish is to evoke that response from others in order to heal a generation of hopeful youths that have seen too many bad things to feel hope anymore.
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