This is how the shards of a heart are pulverized into dust .
. .
. . . Then . . .
A body broken
And then another,
Each with names.
A Mother
And a father, too.
And a soul in search of redress,
Not repair. . .
But at some point
You
stop.
. .
. . . just have to stop,
Sever speech,
Take off the face,
Which can no longer hold the smile steady
And accept that even trusted ones
Don’t want to hear what you
have
to say,
Think you’re
dramatic,
Even hysterical,
And withhold the very trust they demand of
You.
‘Cause the lie, the biggest one,
is that
Their work is
yours,
And yours
Theirs
And that you’re in this together
Rather than just next
to
each other.
