I wish I could say that I told you I was fragile,
that the last boy who loved me left without a goodbye,
and that in the midst of trying to bring him back home
I realized I was nothing but glass and ended up falling to the floor,
left cracked and scattered.

I thought you were the broom that could sweep me back together,
but you only made a path so that you could walk by unharmed;
you left the swept up pieces in the dust pan,
I didn't know you'd soon throw them away.

There's little pieces of me still sliding around on the wooden floor,
I should've known you wouldn't try to put me back together.
I wish I could say I warned you of my sharp edges
and the amount of tears I've accumulated,
but you saw the flowers I held,
and I didn't think much of the dirt;
nor did I ever think you'd create more weight.

You watered the flowers so much they drowned,
and you left them to wilt; you left me overflowing.
I wish I told you to leave before breaking me again,
I guess I forgot.

But mosaics are just pieces of broken glass,
and by breaking me you've only made it easier
for the next person to find me more disastrously beautiful.

(NJ2014) © All Rights Reserved.