I know I'm crazy but I find it funny that everyone thinks they're the only broken people in the world.

I know I'm broken but I find it lovely that everyone else is broken too.

I know I'm falling apart but I find it heartbreaking that we all have whisper-thin cracks that are tearing us apart and tripping us and spreading until our hearts have shattered.

I know I know

We're broken

But we're not alone 

Glass girl 

There is no ‘maybe’ for a glass girl

She has no choice, break or be broken

From this dark cliff she soon shall hurl.

Two tear-stained cheeks; one limp, loose curl,

Lips parted, the pain of words left unspoken

There is no ‘what-if’ for a glass girl.

In prismatic palms, she clasps a pearl,

What use is love, when you are frozen?

From this dark cliff she soon shall hurl.

For though her mind and stomach swirl,

Her lips unlock and eyes fly open

There is no ‘turn back’ for a glass girl.

Her cracks peek through, her hair untwirls,

This poison prison shall be broken

From this dark cliff she soon shall hurl.

She takes her leave; in flight unfurls

her fear; glass shatters, heart awoken.

There is no repairing a glass girl,

From this dark cliff, my soul I hurl.

~~~

this poem is a Villanelle, by the way! I usually don't write poems in such a strict structure so it was interesting to try. 

Not my favorite, but it's fine. I was inspired by something that had had happened that day during lunch at players so...

there’s a swing outside my window, and

i think it’s haunted.

it’s a wrought-iron black, but made from wood. sun-dried and faded, and it

creaks a little when it moves.

there are spiderwebs decorating the chain it hangs from,

golden sunlight streams through the gaps.

a little broken, a little forgotten,

but i think it’s beautiful;

and so does the ghost, perhaps. it always swings,

backward. and forward. and back.

like it’s talking to the wind?

and i sit there sometimes too,

rocking forward and backward and forward,

to keep the ghost company.

because someday when i am as old and decrepit (for i am already as broken) as that swing i want to sit there again,

and feel the wind. sunlight. silence. peace?

because someday when i have moved on from this world i want to come back and be there,

and i will see that ghost.

for now we are strangers sitting in the sun. a little shattered inside, but that’s ok.

cracks are how the light gets through.

and when i finally meet that ghost, perhaps then i will realize

it was never a thing of the past; it was always of the future?

that ghost was always me.