MAybe I am made of glass

And perhaps I am too reflective

And perhaps each time I shatter across the floor in shards of failure I bring us more bad luck

And Perhaps the issue in all of this is you see yourself in me


I’m sorry

I am bad luck, lying broken on the floor


That I cloud so easily each time you try to wash away your sins


Sorry that I catch dust so easily



I miss you

Hang me in your home


Frame me on your wall,

though I carry all the sadness of the house


If you ever need to look into me to see a smile

To see your smile, the one I took on at birth

To see your own beauty and accomplishments

To see the way your eyes always remained the same honey color that lulled me to sleep as a kid even into your


Or fourth

Or fifth hit,

I’m only a phone call away


This poem is about: 
My family


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