She didn’t bother to explain,
How she ended as a collector of brokenness.
Battling fear of self harm every season,
Demanding alarm setting to self love.
Glass pieces, broken beads, bit and pieces,
She dumped it on a table.
Mentored each of the cracked,
Recaptured its souls.
Her home is now a trick-eye museum of perfection,
Where, normalcy is redefined.

– Emily Parker

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published.