Last night I heard you whispering to the stars
You told them you were a husk of a person,
an empty eggshell
so fragile,
so blank.
You tied your secrets to blazing ***** of dust
and whispered wind between the flames
Darling,
inside of the husk there is so much fruit
you  are an eggshell; a vessel
carry the soul inside you with pride.
The stars are long dead
Yet they shine on.
- *u.f.m

I once knew a girl who was a collector of broken things,
From the chipped porcelain jewellery boxes
And fractured photo frames
To me, the most broken object of all

She liked to fix these damaged objects
Because she saw the beauty that lay in them
And carefully she glued me back,
each piece held together by her love
until I was whole again.  
*(u.f.m)