i carry wounds like fragile glass
smoothed edges but sharp in secret places,
ghostly seams from a lover who left me hollow.
and now there’s him.
this beautiful, distant man
holding me close yet never close enough.
his hands warm but never knowing
where i truly hurt. i want to peel back my skin,
show him where the bones are brittle
press his hand to the bruises that linger
to reveal the hurt without flinching.
but he is quiet.
my silent healer.
and i am tired of whispering, “see me.”
into shadows, he will never chase.
so i lie still, half known and half hoping.
a broken thing too weary to break again
wondering if love is just the art of pretending,
we are whole.
Apr 1, 2025
Apr 1, 2025 at 11:32 AM UTC
i carry wounds like fragile glass
smoothed edges but sharp in secret places,
ghostly seams from a lover who left me hollow.
and now there’s him.
this beautiful, distant man
holding me close yet never close enough.
his hands warm but never knowing
where i truly hurt. i want to peel back my skin,
show him where the bones are brittle
press his hand to the bruises that linger
to reveal the hurt without flinching.
but he is quiet.
my silent healer.
and i am tired of whispering, “see me.”
into shadows, he will never chase.
so i lie still, half known and half hoping.
a broken thing too weary to break again
wondering if love is just the art of pretending,
we are whole.
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