A million little pieces.
Swept aside to be forgotten
Or picked up. Cared for. Mended.
To do nothing is to risk everything.
To never feel. To never live. To never be.
To do something holds greater fear,
of being dropped into pieces again.
Shattered. Tattered. Torn.
To feel loves blossom and loves scorn.
To one day shine so bright that no one sees
The cracks. The damage. But just me.
COPYRIGHT 2009. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.
You are braver than me at love. Sometimes I don't like to feel. This was a beautiful poem.
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