Each blow left new shards
To litter my soul's floor
I'm obsessed with fixing
What's meant to be left broken
I expect it all to fuse perfectly
At the expense of bleeding palms
In the middle of striving for
The perfect glass devoid of cracks
I realized the more broken pieces
The more beautiful the mosaic
YOU ARE READING
Musings of the One Percent
PoetryThis inside the mind of a female INFJ. Proceed with caution.