There is a bright side
to being broken and hurt

Without all the pain
One wouldn't be able to express anything
to the world

Through Poetry

I'd take it
only if it was you
holding the gun

Delicate folded paper
Transformed from two dimensions
Into three
Child's play
Placed gently on the water
Floating downstream
The child thinks it will be fine
The paper grows damp
And limp
Collapsing in
But the child's laughter
Encourages it to stay upright
To float a litte further
A sound few could deny
Not even a delicate paper flower
I hear my child's laugh
I must float a little longer