Poetry

Glass in her pockets

A girl stands in front
of a pile of sharp glass
if she were to fall
to tip over
her blood would be drawn

She faces the people
playing the fool
loudly, cheerfully
yet silently begging for their
aknowledgment.

She receives none,
just a few odd looks
and invisible hands
shove her back
and she stumbles,
falling into the shards of glass

They sink through her clothes
through her skull
drawing blood
where they can't be seen

She stands up
glass sticking in her skin
stuck with her, forever
fragments are placed in her pocket
for a sharp reminder
in case she feels
like she belongs