Broken Love

A love that breaks
Is the one that was
A crack in glass
Can only be, if it was ever whole
And that crack is not a flaw
Although the world might say it is
It is a scar, a brave one
Of having withstood an assault
Of having withstood pain
Of having seen how touch feels
And then having been separated from its warmth
Was it a stone? A stick?
It doesn’t matter
Did it hurt?
Ofcourse it did
But what good is a glass
That never was tested
What good is a heart
Where pain never manifested

I have been rattled
And scratched and chipped
And worn down by heat and dust
And shaped and colored
To hide it all
And yet once in a while
The scars show themselves
Unabashedly, proudly
And sometimes arrogantly
I am still the same inside
And no paint no pain can change that
What’s more
I never want to..


Constructive and genuine appreciation and/or criticism most welcome

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