I exhale my thoughts across the page.
My pen bleeds them into being.
The paper victim of open wounds to describe a hidden hurt.
This vicious dance of pain.
Breathing life to this war of love.
A mosaic of broken hearts.
Sharp edges of loneliness hidden in the mortar of hopefulness.
Is it fair to make believe a whole out of pieces?
To take these glass hearts and shatter them to make a masterpiece.
Taking the ruins of a life,
Puzzling them together.
A cobbled set of emotions.
Flashes of light against the surface of what once was.
Reflections of color, seeing beauty in the aftermath.
Perhaps hearts were never meant to remain whole.
Collecting parts of others
Quilting the fabric into a blanket
Warm enough to forget I am made of parts
Parts of everyone I’ve met.
Surrendering shards of me for the art of others
Taking pieces for myself to fill the gaps.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC
I exhale my thoughts across the page.
My pen bleeds them into being.
The paper victim of open wounds to describe a hidden hurt.
This vicious dance of pain.
Breathing life to this war of love.
A mosaic of broken hearts.
Sharp edges of loneliness hidden in the mortar of hopefulness.
Is it fair to make believe a whole out of pieces?
To take these glass hearts and shatter them to make a masterpiece.
Taking the ruins of a life,
Puzzling them together.
A cobbled set of emotions.
Flashes of light against the surface of what once was.
Reflections of color, seeing beauty in the aftermath.
Perhaps hearts were never meant to remain whole.
Collecting parts of others
Quilting the fabric into a blanket
Warm enough to forget I am made of parts
Parts of everyone I’ve met.
Surrendering shards of me for the art of others
Taking pieces for myself to fill the gaps.
