Pondering

Stitched Together

Some of us are broken in more pieces than others,

for some have fissures running over their skin,

while others are shattered into countless pieces

but it's there;

it's always there because we're all alive.

Maybe there was a time when being alive didn't mean you were broken,

but time weighs on people and they crack.

To find the broken beautiful is masochistic,

but I don't mind when I might be the string to stitch you back up.

What's the most troubling is the broken see love all around them or worse don't,

but either way it's never directed towards them

and that is what breaks them.

Why they're punished for seeing the world deeper than most bother do is mystifying,

because all I want is to hear your speculations and the thoughts that cross your mind late at night.

I'll listen because I want to,

and also because I need to.

Somehow I think you'll need me too,

so you'll tell me these things

and I'll cry because you don't deserve to be broken, yet you're shattered.

These are the people who don't believe in love

because they can't allow themselves to,

but that's what they need.

They need someone to look at them the way I look at you

because somehow, some way I will string you back together

the way you unknowingly have me.

These stitches won't be ripped back out,

they'll dissolve into you,

and become a part of you,

but I'll be here long after they do.