Call me mad
nevertheless
I truly believe a life  
Without poetry
Would be a poorer life
A less happy life
an artless life  
A life without color
A life without tongue
no sounds to be heard
A life empty
of any real meaning

i feel like i’m made of glass
and last february,
you broke me.
i shattered.

you didn’t know
and you didn’t care
and you just. kept. pushing.

i broke into a million jagged pieces
and you
you took some of them with you.
i can’t get them back
and i’m not stupid enough to try.

you shattered me
and i was careless enough
to cut myself in the wreckage.

nothing was the same.

you broke me when i said no
and i thought
maybe
i could put myself back together
by saying yes--
again, and again, and again.
to strangers.
to friends.
to anyone who would listen,
and now all of my bridges are in flames
and i’m getting burned.

do you know what happens to burning glass?
i do.
it’s happening to me

and i’m starting to fly away in the wind,
slipping through my own fingers
like sand on the beach.
scattered so far
and so wide
that finding my way back together is like searching
for a single grain
on the ocean floor.

i'm drowning in my past
searching
for a lifeline
reaching for anything--
for anyone--
that will take me
that will tape me back together