Broken
I always thought my heart was made of stone.
How I grew up that's how I perceived it all alone.
Till before another my heart was laid.
Then I realized of glass it was made.
When I met you my hands were still bleeding from trying to pick up the pieces.
Whether you realize it or not it never ceases.
You took my heart from me.
My hands no longer bleed.
My heart is now whole to love you.
My hands healed to hold you.
👁 1💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.