why do you hide from what makes you whole?
why are you so scared
of mirrors
and your own flesh?
who made you the girl
that couldn’t stop running around
so she could pick up the pieces?
love, your bones will surely break
if you keep on like this.
why have you spent all of your life
looking for your self-destruct button?
have you not done enough destruction
throwing stones at yourself?
your walls,
they’re covered with notes
that you’ve written to yourself,
late at night,
when you were too tired to remember
how shattered you thought you were.
haven’t you bloodied your hands enough,
picking up shards of who you used to be?
don’t you know?
we are not born complete.
you’ve spent these years
building yourself into a heavens-high tower of stone,
but crying over those shattered windows.
isn’t it time you learned?
you don’t have to mourn broken glass.