I have papercuts
Tearing up scraps of paper
Printed photographs
Of memories that should be in sepia
I didn't know my heart could be shredded
And my soul in pieces
As the loneliness creeps in
Overtaking the mould in the cracks
My head in my hands
Shoulders to the floor
As my tears paint the cracked lino
Cursing you with every expletive...

But you did make breakfast
Every weekend and brought it to me
Those lazy days when you would cuddle me
Then you did hold my hand
When Mom was passing
Your words building me up
The way you built that treehouse...

I don't want to forget the old you
Because maybe, just maybe,
He might return.

You see into the cracks of my facade.
And you are not afraid,
Or disgusted.

You stay
And you kiss each of those cracks
Until each burst open.
Revealing
Me.
And then,
You tell me you love me.

For the first time in my life,
I believe.
I love you.

We were never them
their glass would shatter and scatter
when hard times came
but you and i
we may have cracked
but our shortcomings became masterpieces
artefacts
of what we used to be,
celebrations of what we weren't:

then we fell
through the same cracks we celebrated
and nothing broke our fall
so we floated,
drifting
in disbelief, we gazed at each other
where a thrashing ocean of emotions
pierced our stare,
a draining era
that left us like them,
shattered
and scattered.

The heart is the same as glass.
As strong as it may be, once
it begins to crack, it's harder
for it to heal, let alone
trust.

I remember when hating everything was cool, but then all of a sudden it wasn't?
It's too late,
I'm filled with this hate, an anger you helped create.
It seeps from my pours,
It makes up my floors:
And I can't break its hold; the hands already closed.
The power I thought I had you took when you left;
It lied in my head.