I’ve picked up the pieces
of my broken heart so many times
that my fingers have never healed
from the cuts.
They were destroyed by the jagged shards
of a broken heart.
My dream of writing becomes harder and harder
as again and again, my heart is broken
which makes my hands bleed
as I pick up the pieces
again and again.
I hold them close to my chest
as I go from place to place,
creating a bubble around me to protect myself
from the world.
I rush from place to place, never slowing down
for fear of dropping the pieces and breaking
the already broken heart more.
But last night I stopped.
Let my guard down.
And when my brother said I’d kiss the boy
who bullies me every day,
I lost it.
The shards fell and shattered into a million pieces.
The shield fell.
And the whole system I created to keep myself