Unbroken

 

She isn't broken,

but if she were it would be simpler,

because then she could fix herself.

 

She isn't broken, but bruised,

not cracked, but dented.

 

she once loved so deeply,

that her love wells ran out.

 

so she's empty, dried up,

and feels inhumane.

 

When others' laughter surrounds her,

she relies on muscle memory

to crack a parched smile,

distracting from the desert that is her emotions

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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