The Slam: Slammables


by queenie_flower, breaking two years of silence

I know you aren't made of glass,

but when your edges--

(chipped and cracked under pressure and circumstance)

--when your sharp edges cut me,

that is when it hurts the most.


when you cannot see the blood dripping from my hands 

when I try to piece back together the shards

(the shards that were you)

or how they pierce my heart while I try to gather you up and hold you close,

(hold you together)

somehow that hurts me even more.

And I wouldn't change you for the world,

because even as you lie 

shattered on the ground 

and stained with my blood

even as you lie there,

your pieces form a mosaic

a masterpiece 

that I couldn't dream of changing,

except maybe to wipe the blood away.


Author's Note: First published piece, but definitely not my first time here.


hey nice job! (the parentheses add a lot)

critiqued by Lauren v
Aug 10, 2017