Do you think it was you who broke me?
Are you that special?
I broke at 7 when the first man I loved had forsaken me
I broke at 12 when she threatened to beat me daily but never landed a single blow
I broke at 18 when my first love sought comfort between a strangers legs
I broke at 22 when I found myself in the dark touched by unwanted hands
I broke at 25 when my last love told me I’m worthless and broke objects at my feet and said his life’s in my  hands
I shattered at 26 when I bared too many cracks to remain whole.
Are you that special?
To think your presence or lack of, would make my life anymore tenebrous than its become.

Being a giver is a funny thing,
you see someone with less pieces  than you, which the world took from them
you tear off a part of you to fix their broken parts
a giver will do this again, and again.
until one day they reach inside to pull out another piece to complete another,
and there is nothing.
Emptiness meets their grasp.  
a giver, is a funny thing.