weak.
broken.
Afraid.
Coward.
Shy.
I am a mosaic.
.... or I would be.
I'm still trying,
working hard to pick up the shards,
to glue the pieces back together,
one by one.
It was shattered.
They took turns,
swinging at the glass,
that crowd you see before you.
Those lingering shadows whose harmful words sting my hands,
as glass cuts through.
Blood trickles down my flesh,
old wounds barely healed.
A heart left open,
easily on display,
but fragile as it crashes.
... But a hand reaches to help pick up the pieces,
and more gather,
unaware of the shadows who loom beneath the surface.
So many hands reach out to help,
more than ever before.
And I catch myself in awe of all the people I met,
and the friends who share their kindness with me.
More than ever before,
and my heart can't help but to happily cry as gratitude pools over.
I'm so glad to have met everyone in my life this year.