My broken pieces scrap against the ground
As you sweep me up into a pile,
Collecting each piece with hope of restoration.
Bare skin is sliced as you pick up a shard,
The fresh cut dribbling out blood.
(Even when I hurt you, you remain...)
Is there truly a point on putting me back together?
I shattered when I had been finally thrown away.
I'm broken beyond repair and, yet, you still try.
Am I even good enough to deserve such care?
Played like a toy for most of my life,
And for the first time there's hope of me getting better.
