The surface of my soul is pitted,
Chunks missing from mortar blasts.
Each crater reminiscent of a breakdown,
Of an "I don't love you anymore."
I do my best to cover them up,
Fill them in, but they're always there.
Reminders of those who came and,
When they went eventually yanked the chain,
Spreading shrapnel through the streets.
Luckily I've found someone who understands,
Just because I'm broken
Doesn't mean I'm not beautiful.
And somehow, she sees the parts of me
That I refuse to.
I'm lucky she does.
She's a master with masonry,
Building me up and fixing my shattered windows.
Not a single shingle out of place.
Without her,
The rebuilding wouldn't be going half as well.