Here I stand on a corner
Under a streetlamp.
masking salty streams on my cheeks
An empty hole in my stomach grows.
The void of unreturned love swallows me whole.
I look to the heavens for reason
Is there a manipulator pulling my hidden marionette strings
Laughing from behind the clouds
No,We are just figurines made of popsicle sticks to be easily broken in two
We glue ourselves back together
Healed but never whole
Alive but scarred.
These badges of pain
We carry till the final sleep.
We hate them for they taint our conceived notions of beauty.
We never understand our patch-worked hearts
and sutured souls define us
We are pieces of wood
Made unique with the splintering of strife
I wipe tears in the rain
My chest full with ragged shards of my heart
I glance at my feet,
See no puppeteer strings
To make me dance and sing.
That alone is up to me.
I begin to walk,
In search of glue