There’s a line of a song
And it goes,
‘My heart can’t possibly break , when it wasn’t even whole to start with’,
It echoes a beleif I seem to hold,
A belief that holds me,
in the lonely cold hours between dusk,
and dawn.
‘I’m too broken , to be broken anymore ‘
This knowledge is a softly spoken bedtime story,
An old smelly, fuzzy comfort blanket,
Its the slither of light from the hallway that falls on my face,
Its the hole-ridden teddy bear thats missing half of its insides,
That I clutch tight to my chest,
It lures & lulls me into the welcoming safety of oblivion….
….But it is just
…a fairytale.
Because in the harsh, glaring and inescapable light of day
with its loud and jarring noises
and rancid sweet smothering smoke,
just when I beleive that all the pieces of me are too small to possibly be broken anymore,
They Break Again.
And I watch in absence and in awe
how many pieces a person can be broken into.
Night falls.
I leave the hallway light on,
I gather my blanket and my teddy,
I curl up in my bed,
And a small voice gently whispers
‘They can’t break you now.’
😥
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