wordlings

mosaic

galleries line down the street, and i step into one.

abstract and beautiful, and I've only just begun.

on to the next, and then the next, but there's nothing different.

just a bunch of similars trying to be what they are not: different.

the last gallery, long, boring and pale, i step in to check.

same as the others, it seems all I have is tough luck.

till i looked in the trash, and found the most priceless piece.

broken china, with gold in your cracks.
a mismatched mosaic, spotted, striped and flowered.
a here and there, you're everywhere.
so i picked you up, and took you home.

with such pride, i showed you off,

telling the stories of your stains like a distorted fairytale.

all my love, i gave to you, until you told your stories on your own.

i couldn't help it that my skin littered with constellations and galaxies, so i covered it up.

you had no say in being crushed, and re-formed again,  so you gave up on you.

we might mismatch, and be a sight for sore eyes,
but hold me tight, whenever the moon rises up, and the sun dies.

i'll take you to heaven, bring hell to you.
my sweet, sweet mosaic, i know you'll do the same too.