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.

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.