Broken things are our souls
Because our souls are broken
Unmet goals
And feelings left unopened
In dusty jars on a shelf
Broken things hold our sense of self
Because we're not willing to dissect our own hearts
And find out what they look like in parts
We find ourselves in the chips
In the scratches and nicks
In the jaggedy cracks
And the broken backs.
In the shattered object that lacks
It's integrity
I see
Me
***
As with the last poem, this was inspired by Secrets_NeverSeen so once again, thank you to her for her support, along with all the rest of you.
I suppose we can look on this as a bit of a sequel to "Broken Things." Although the message is different, that doesn't mean it isn't true; though it doesn't resonate with me as deeply, my friend deems it to make more sense to her.
Alex xxx
YOU ARE READING
Under My Sofa
PoetryWhen I was little I wrote in the space under my sofa. Now I write on top of it. That's not poetic. I'm just too big to fit underneath anymore.
