here in this house of polished silence, we thrive in the sound of words shaped like knives every sunday
no
scratch that
every ten minutes after something gracious weakens the tension
but pain is normal now, and uncomfortable silence is what steadies our nervous hearts in the face of compassion, and words that slit the soft skin under our chins release the hope we have fooled ourselves into feeling, and no one can let us down anymore but ourselves
in this house of polished silence, we thrive in chipped plates that have been thrown, shattered mirrors that have suffered high pitches, and cracked hearts that have dropped from the hands of careless mothers and fathers
we thrive in the broken
we thrive in the only thing we know
because this is unconditional love
and i have to go tend to the split skin of my family now
