December 14, 2009
Tears stream down her face
Leaving behind their salty stains
Tinted black by mascara.
She cannot tell you why they come.

Beneath her feet lies the
Shattered remains of the mirrors
That once stood strong
On the wall in front of her.

"Don't move,"
She hear her father shout,
"You'll cut yourself."
His worried voice echoes.

She doesn't care.
She walks step by step forward
Without paying attention to the shards
Beneath her feet.

She felt the sting as her bare feet
Stepped onto the sharp edges
That once held the
Full image of herself.

She hated that image.
It was ugly and gross.
It was broken too
Just like these shards.

As she saw the warm red liquid
Flow and stain the floor of my bedroom,
And she saw the broken reflexion in the pieces,
She felt more complete than ever before.

She reached the floor apart from the broken glass,
And there she sat and curled into her own self.
As her father ran into the room and saw stains,
She could see him ready to become angry.

Then he looks over to the corner
And sees the broken girl
Crying in the corner,
And he forgets the shards strewn across the floor.

He paces around the pieces
And moves around to his baby girl.
He wraps her feet in the towels that he brought
And puts her in his arms.

As he walks to the car with her in his arms
To go and fix the wounds,
She feels safe in the arms of her redeemer.
She feels the warmth of the love in the strength of his arms.

Slowly, she regains the love for herself
She once had
Because before one can be made whole,
They have to be broken.

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