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Shards of porcelain on the floor
If I tear myself apart,
Will you be there to build me back up ?
Will you take the time to repair what’s broken ?
Even if it can’t be repaired ?
Even if it happens again ?
I could never promise you peace.
If I did,
I would be looking at myself in the mirror,
And my eyes wouldn't be the only red painting that covers my body.
What am I even supposed to tell my younger self ?
I’m used,
I’ve been used to people breaking me,
And leaving my pieces on the floor.
I had to gather it all up and build it back up
On my own,
I didn’t know where the pieces belonged to.
I would give up and break it all down,
again and again and again.
Some of them had been broken down so hard that they could never be repaired,
That they could never do what they were made for,
Feel the things they used to feel.
It’s been a while now,
Since I started breaking my own porcelain.
I lost many pieces,
So many holes that can’t be filled,
That can’t hide
The ugliness that is inside that vase.
Copyright ©
Tyfaine Rouaud
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