When you're in pieces on the kitchen floor
and your brother, your sister, your mother, your father, your best friend for life
argue over who's to blame, and someone's yet to ask if you're okay,
dirt infects the shards, and a forever scar persists.
When you're in pieces on the kitchen floor
and your loved ones embrace you with hot glue,
the material holds stronger than new.
YOU ARE READING
Waiting for the Rain to Fall
PoetryPoems that twine thread around the broken bits of a soul, that fling umbrella lips into beaming buckets and kind of just make you want to say, "life is beautiful, isn't it?" - a totally unbiased review from me, the author.
