We are like glass
We can be pretty
Beautifully crafted
Stained with the brightest of colors
Gazed upon in art museums.
"Oo"d and "ah"d.
But we also can shatter.
We can break when it is not wanted.
When we break it is frowned upon.
Because where is the true beauty of pain when it is not put together beautifully?
When you break glass, you can apologize purfusely, and try to glue everything back together.
But we have already been broken now. There's no going back.
We are permanently broken and there's no fixing that.
I.R.G. 2/16/16
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Ignored // writings
PoesíaWhat's the point of an introduction when there's no grand story to tell?
