Writer1326

I will give you my heart;

A little glass thing.

It reflects the stars burning in your eyes.

You will drop it on the sidewalk,

And call all of my broken pieces beautiful.

Pick it up shard by shard,

I yearn to see this life as a painting.

I want to see the colors that are mixed in, 

The colors I have not yet seen,

The colors that would spiral into blackness,

1; We are born into this love, 

this idea of love. 

It is what begins to form us, 

much like spring 

with budding leaves ...

And just like the moon 

we gotta go through phases to of hurt 

to feel fulfilled again. 

In the prior Autumn, the air smelled of leaf carcasses
and her abundant unused potential.
In efforts to cope she wrote of downpours,
breakup boots, and predicted wasted experiences.
She rebelled against her own sense of self, yet