Where do I stand with you, I can't stand that I don't understand what you demand, demanding the hand I've been handing out to you. It's been there the whole time a hidden gem in plain sight, an innuendo that mocked the way you end it.
My love an emerald ephemeral disassembled, resembled shattered green glass, battered with no sheen. I'll make a Mosaic with a pattern algebraic. Fill the cracks with gold the way the Japanese fixed their plates. Gloss over it only to cover it with a tapestry opaque for none to see what i make.
This beauty I'm constructing isn't for you to see, it's reserved for those deserved of the nerve I might have, to one day reveal my ideal way to heal.
YOU ARE READING
A Break Up and Other Things That Cross My Mind
PoetrySomewhere to keep the poetry I often delete
