Don't wince at my scars, instead use them to find where I am broken, and put your body against the cracks.
Don't let me fall out of myself again, the parts might fit together, but the breaks are never clean.
Sometimes I feel like glass in the middle of a war zone, just the sound of goodbye may destroy me.
I've picked up the pieces before, cut myself with shards of who I was, carefully pasted them together with who I am, hoping no one would notice.
The trouble is the masking tape I used, doesn't seem to mask anymore.
The trouble is I leave tiny bits of myself behind me, just so I can be found.
The trouble is my heart is made of clay and it might just break with one more fall.
Maybe that's the wonder of me, even once i've broken…I can break again.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez