And I think there are just too many things that break my heart, I fight too hard to stop from falling into pieces that I can't be spoken to, not even quietly.

There are too many people I've seen thoroughly, I can't separate myself from anything and I can't be looked at, not even briefly.

There are too many oceans, too deep to venture, no explorer will have courage enough to dip their toes in this water, and no one can touch me, not even kindly.

There are too many things that scare me now. I never leave from the bed I lay in and I can't be danced with, not even calmly.

There are too many ways to break my heart these days that I can't be moved, not even gently,

Not even at all.

I didnt understand
Didnt know
I was broken
Because Ive never known
What it means to be whole

Bones-Let’s let them be dry and ******
As if that be the way they were found
Let them crack and fracture and bruise, amongst the concrete ground
Let them have their space to break and wither away-
Let’s turn the other cheek-while behind us they quickly decay
And then let’s use their fossils for fuel, weapons or laddels in every size
As simply as to stir the ***, and smug at their great demise
If not ashes to dust, then what'll be of our bones we fast to give away-
Sewn better than not, twist an arm for play-

But simple pleasures wither too, bones we toddle but dare not fix
Let them wonder how we toyed our hearts- like a feverish game of pick-up-sticks.

-Bre Womble