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Glass Slivers
July 5, 2009
I’ve surrounded my
heart with layers
so thick.
Few are allowed inside.
But I’m the one
who does the
most damage.
My heart is glass
and it sits,
lonely on a table.
My hammer is propped
up against a wall,
worn from use.
A tube of glue lies
on a shelf.
Glass litters the floor
because when I shatter
my heart again and again
it’s hard to find
all the pieces.
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