My parents are made of glass. My mom and step dad, my dad and soon-to-be-stepmom. Each and every single one will slip and crash, glass against glass and I am in the collision course. Each time one hits another, the shards fly through the air and I breathe them in. my lungs full of shards and my skin cut open. I went to you to pluck it out and you pulled me free then shaped me into my own glass bottle. So thin and fragile. But darling you broke me and I you, we're all broken bottles.
YOU ARE READING
To you, from me
PoetryPoetry I wrote when you were on my mind and when it hurt to be alive. I'll love you always. From, me
