Pain. Chronic Pain.
Do you ever feel like you are made of glass—
Ever trying to reflect the sumptuous nature of the light
Scratched but not yet broken
On the brink of shattering into far too many pieces to reconstruct you
Ever in sight
Others ever cautious—waiting,
Poised ready for the inevitable while prizing your luster, your strength
Remaining composed despite all
Desperately grasping the solid ground
Tiptoeing as to preserve the pain
Closing your desolate, grieving eyes
Smiling in the moment—
Living not quite to the fullest,
But to the absolute in your potential, your ability
Your will to leave your mark, your footprint—
All while feeling the frail, fragile, suffering fault lines bend near their empty void
The heart—
The strongest muscle in the body,
Must have the youthful innocence to drive, to propel forward
Remain
Despite any looming threats or fears
It is not ideal,
But it is not impossible—
To prevail in a tumultuous world,
Seared more than burned,
Stuck in a fragile casing
Meant to support your beauty
Kindle, care, and be loved
That is all we desire.