Eggshells and glass
Scatter at my feet
Each, a promising derail
From the sweet facade of comfort
And on the wall in front of me
An image of home
Mounted, Crooked, Cracked
The frame is precious
And priceless
And broken.
The arch of my back finds the indent in the wall
And I am anchored and alright.
Sometimes, I am asked to dance
On the fragile, piling spread set before me
I am asked not to break the shells
I am asked not to break the glass
But never am I asked,
Not to bleed.
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Realms
PoetryA collection of poetry of all the good and bad things. © All rights reserved.
