Fractured Image

Tue, 03/05/2019 - 20:23 -- cerowe

Words dance on the tip of my tongue

I swallow them before they come.

Don’t be braggadocious.

 

Dissecting people’s stares

To figure out if I’m enough

Doesn’t help that I’m short.

 

Should I mention that?

No.

Not everyone knows I’m 5’3”

They wouldn’t get the joke.

 

I’ll smile and laugh,

Glazing over at the eyes

As I fantasize being secure

In life.

 

The relationships I strive to keep

Will fall to pieces at my feet

If I say the wrong thing

If I dare to be me.

 

Am I laughing too loud?

Am I not talking enough?

Or am I talking excessively?

Perhaps my fidgeting is just too much.

 

Wait! No, please don’t leave.

I’ll change, I’ll rearrange

Until all my pieces fit with your’s

Like stained glass of silver and gold

 

Years pass and I’m shattered like broken glass

The gold was of a fool’s

The silver rusted at the first sign of tears.

I could never say anything to keep them here

 

I fused together my pieces

Until I was a jagged mirror,

A distorted image of what I was before.

Yet words still danced at the tip of my tongue.

 

Then, I spoke the words from my mind

The wounds healed into scars

The scars faded with time

 

My words are my weapons

I can fight the battle

I have the power

To build and move mountains

 

I find people who don’t leave.

They don’t care if I’m braggadocious

Or that I’m 5’3”.

Maybe they love me for me.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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