I don't throw away
broken things
I prefer to give them sympathy
the same kind
that's given to me
from the lady
at the front desk
who knows not
why I'm here
nor the number of tissues
I go through in a year
yet through untested eyes
happy to see me
she always appears

yes, I'd rather find a place
for the ornament
too fractured
to prove it deserves
to stay
too busy
trying to feel good enough
to take up its own space

for to toss them aside
would be ever so hypocritical
'cause when you're clutching at straws
strong bonds
are weak
and minimal

I've apathy for most things
except things like these
I understand
breaking isn't a choice
when you're never at ease
that's why
I'll keep these things
and these things
will keep me
validated, comforted,
sedated
for in my rigid routine
at least to something
I am related

to the glass
that lies shattered
the dress
that's in tatters
things once loved
and twice battered
we need not try
to be the same
as the white cloth
with absent stains
for doing so
would be in vein
doing so
would be to disregard
your pain
to wipe away the blood
is to forget the beast was slain
it's just
the only thing
of which I fear
is becoming plain
as the ones I hold dear.

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