My fingers are soft as snow,
and my heart is tender like the sea.
If you dissect me you’d see,
I am weak.

You’d try to,
bleed me out dry,
and try to remake me,
recreate me.

Heal me head to toe,
pulling glass shards out of my soul.
Restitch me piece by piece,
glue the parts back into me.

Then maybe you’d believe me when I say,
“It’s so hard to pull myself together when I fall apart.”