Everywhere I look I see what I have broken. I see what pain I have caused people. Cracked plates, punched in walls, shattered hearts. The thing that is broken the most is the man in the mirror. I’m the most broken of them all. The cracked plates can’t compare to my shattered reflection. The thing is, I didn’t break myself. I have been broken. Shattered. I keep handing people the sledgehammers, knowing the results every single time. I still hand it over though. I don’t know how much more my shattered heart can take. I’m surprised I have lasted this long to be honest.
I
Just
Want
To
Be
whole.
But what can mend a broken soul?
Or maybe the question I should be asking is, who can?
Certainly not myself.
nor a mere mortal.
I keep looking down, but maybe it’s time to look up.
I’m broken. But what is broken can be mended.
Right?
I have to believe there’s someone out there who’s big enough to mend
My
Shattered
Heart
Some call it false hope.
For something to be false it has to be proven faulty.
My hope is not faulty.
Far
From
It.
I think.