I'm what remains of a broken girl.
Maybe more cracked than broken, but broken none the less.
Shattered glass of a porcelain perfect girl,
My sharp edges ready to slice whoever gets close enough to glue my pieces back together.
I couldn't let anyone see the ugly remains of my transparent silhouette.
All that was left of my blown out dandelion,
No one wants to keep the stem of the dandelion after they've let their wishes dance in the wind,
But oh how the stem wishes it could dance.
I'm the one that tried to turn my pain into poetry,
But all that came out of it was a wasted notebook full of torn out pages and the same broken girl.