The seed planted in my chest is growing up my throat and I think a blossom is on my tongue.

It is so hard
To be right
When wrong
Is the only
Thing known

We are fragile for different reasons.

I have never been dropped or scraped.
I am not mature enough to be hurt.
I am not a full sculpture.

You were thrown and shattered.
Fragments flew everywhere.
You were glued back together but there are too many discarded shards.

I will tell you I love you for now.
I will say it honest and proud.
But I will always have a fear of chipping off undried pieces.
And that's a sort of terrible thing.

The hurricanes burn holes in my face. My emotion is acid. I can destroy.
As I press these weapons into my eyes galaxies appear behind the curtains.
They are invisible to you, and only for me.
Hold my knives tight. Share my pain.