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Brokengirl9615
29 I have never shared publicly so please be gentle with me! I write about very sensitive topics.
Poems1
Words161
There’s something so ironic about grieving the person that broke you like a China shop manager with a “bulls welcome” sign on the door I welcomed you in only to have you shatter every porcelain piece of me only to clean it up and invite you back. Only to see you in a room with me organizing the shelves so their perfect before they once again come smashing down as you turn to leave. Then one day you stopped coming back you left and you didn’t return and I craved the sound of shattering glass of slamming doors and turned backs as I utter to you the words which I always craved to hear back. My shop stayed pristine this time and without you to ruin it I began to trash it myself and time and time again people would stop in and sweep up the glass with me and they’d say the words and I’d turn my back just like you taught me. When it wasn’t enough to do it myself I’d hang more signs up outside begging someone to come in and wreck the shop I made and boy would they. I’d cut my fingers cleaning up the glass alone because nobody deserved to be treated the way I treated those that helped me. Did I deserve to be treated this way? Over and over I’d clean it up, and they’d return to destroy it and everytime the bell rang I’d look up expecting to see you yet I knew it wasn’t you it could never be you and somehow the assault from the others didn’t satisfy my thirst for anguish the way yours did, their back turning didn’t wound me correctly and their abandonment didn’t starve me the way yours always has. And always will. You’re gone. And I’m alone in a perfect store I’ve taken the signs down and stared at the stocked shelves I’ve uttered the words to others and they’ve reciprocated with so much enthusiasm yet it doesn’t cure the ache I feel to hear you truly mean it when you speak it: and I never will. I settle for their purchases, their words fill a small part of the void temporarily but occasionally I’ll glance at your sign and I’ll crave you, and knowing I can’t have you I’ll take the sign and place it back on the door “bulls welcome, I miss you dad”
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Apr 13
Apr 13, 2026 at 10:00 AM UTC
Brokengirl9615
Bull in a china shop
There’s something so ironic about grieving the person that broke you like a China shop manager with a “bulls welcome” sign on the door I welcomed you in only to have you shatter every porcelain piece of me only to clean it up and invite you back. Only to see you in a room with me organizing the shelves so their perfect before they once again come smashing down as you turn to leave. Then one day you stopped coming back you left and you didn’t return and I craved the sound of shattering glass of slamming doors and turned backs as I utter to you the words which I always craved to hear back. My shop stayed pristine this time and without you to ruin it I began to trash it myself and time and time again people would stop in and sweep up the glass with me and they’d say the words and I’d turn my back just like you taught me. When it wasn’t enough to do it myself I’d hang more signs up outside begging someone to come in and wreck the shop I made and boy would they. I’d cut my fingers cleaning up the glass alone because nobody deserved to be treated the way I treated those that helped me. Did I deserve to be treated this way? Over and over I’d clean it up, and they’d return to destroy it and everytime the bell rang I’d look up expecting to see you yet I knew it wasn’t you it could never be you and somehow the assault from the others didn’t satisfy my thirst for anguish the way yours did, their back turning didn’t wound me correctly and their abandonment didn’t starve me the way yours always has. And always will. You’re gone. And I’m alone in a perfect store I’ve taken the signs down and stared at the stocked shelves I’ve uttered the words to others and they’ve reciprocated with so much enthusiasm yet it doesn’t cure the ache I feel to hear you truly mean it when you speak it: and I never will. I settle for their purchases, their words fill a small part of the void temporarily but occasionally I’ll glance at your sign and I’ll crave you, and knowing I can’t have you I’ll take the sign and place it back on the door “bulls welcome, I miss you dad”
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