she bent.
And she bent.
And she bent.
Until—
she was stuck in a
cube of cement.
Curled away to hide from
the agony and resent.
Into the cube she vents
protecting herself
from the misery and torment.
Even if a glimpse
of light is all
that she has dreamt.
To hide in her little
cube
is how her time is always
spent.
-
-You'd be surprised how shes not broken from all of her bents..
YOU ARE READING
Scattered Pieces
Poetry~if i learn the story behind each scattered pieces, will I finally know how the glass looked before it was broken... #25 & #24 in poets #1 in brokenpieces #1 in brokenglass #8 in poetry #8 in poetess #7 in originalpoetry #28 in poetrybook >None of...
