MANDALA # 03/1000 

Broken Glass

I cut my hands
trying to fix their broken glass
one too many times
my blood stained the floor
as I picked up their pieces
the harder I held the deeper they cut
In a moment of pain
the vision came clear
they never asked for my help
I would never be enough
they held the hammer they held the glue
I was the ground that held it all
I decided
NO more
I let go of the pieces
and let them sit with their
Sharp Edges