a collection of jagged things

i think about

the mirrors that shatter

and the bones that are broken

the edges that are torn

and the words that are left unsaid

all of them

connected by a thread

vastly different

but the same in their jagged incompletion.

each of them dangerous

each of them tragic

begging to be caressed to softness

yet drawing blood at the first touch.

it is not my fault that my soul is jagged edges

or tragedy weaponized

and i can’t explain how it feels

other than pointing to these images

of sharp, broken things

that long to be whole.

yet still i long

and i always will.