It is said that once a glass
is broken,
there's no way to repair it
without getting hurt.
For a time  I was that
glass.

Shatted and abandoned,
I searched for the pieces.
I can tell you this:
she bled on that floor,
fixing us- no,
I bled on that floor,
fixing us.

But even when the pieces
were in place,
I couldn't function the
same.

I bled, and bled and bled.
And she rose for us-
built Rome from stretch
with her bleeding hands.
While we sat there, frozen,
She built walls of steel
and refused to let anyone in.

When I woke, I discovered
our inner light.
She screamed in pain,
her scars unhealed.
Not everything heals with
time.

I sat there, bandaging her wounds-
neglected- while she stood guard,
still building Rome.
The walls are high;
the walls are thick.

But the walls are there
because she fought
for our light.
for survival.

And now wounds are
healing.
Our inner child cries for
freedom.
She wants the light.
She wants to be seen,
to be heard.
She wants a pen.

So now we're learning to
coexist.
We're learning that each
part,
each piece,
has its role.

We are one
I am finally whole.