There's broken glass on the floor, and I see the bag in the hall. I wanted to say more, but couldn't let you see me fall. My mouth doesn't open, for fear of what I'd done, I know I shouldn't have scolded, when I was only supposed to love.
There's broken glass on the floor, the TV plays loud in the other room. I look down at yet another chore, and I know that you're finally through. Another bag adds to the one before, and I see you standing tall, I see a glimmer of the man once more, the one moments ago that said he didn't love me at all.
There's broken glass on the floor, and I hear him pull out into the street, I looked around once more, and realize what must be. I count the shards, as if each was a day I was with you, I sweep them up, but don't throw them away, it's still too soon.
There's broken glass on the floor, and I hear nothing else, than the moment that it shattered, my heart knowing just how it felt.
Bella Darrow
YOU ARE READING
She Was. She Is.
PoetryJust an on going book of poetry. Got locked out of my old account so restarting with this kicker. Some of these were written when I was sixteen and a bit cringe worthy, please bare with me as I try to edit these puppies
