I used to be afraid of picking up broken pieces
For a fear of getting hurt
But now it's an obsession
I observe the sharp edges
Run my fingers across jagged points
If I bleed I hope it might act like glue
I want to mend the broken pieces
Because I'm broken too
And maybe if I fix this
I can be fixed too

i am a little girl
alone in a little world
i said a prayer
and fell asleep.

i awoke to you.
lying sweetly
deeply
quietly
breathed in
                 and out
with a stressless sigh

“Poppysmic”
She uttered the word,
With a smile on the corner of her lips.
They were sitting on a stone bench
In the green shade of a huge chestnut tree,
Leaning against each other.
His fingers were playing with her brown hair,
While his rapid heart was fancying a kiss.
“What? ” He replied,
Lifting an eyebrow out of curiosity
For that unknown word.
She began, “This is the sound of…”
But his heart was not patient enough
To hear more, and instantly
His supple lips touched those soft lips of hers.
Pa – *** – smik
The sound occurred.
She winked and he giggled in joy
As the mystery of poppysmic was unlocked.