Broken Toys

Nothing wrong with being a broken toy

In dire need of a little fixing

The cracks, may not always be visible

But the wear and tear of life

Has it's magical ways

To relentlessy throw strife

Papa, oh papa.

You broke me...smashed my juvenile soul into a million pieces

My first heartbreak

What a shame.

But the bright sunlight covered the pieces of glass

That were strewn helplessly on the concrete floor

It was such a mighty task

To ask for someone to help me pick up the pieces of glass

Without a little blood shed on the way

Scared, scared, scared.

Scared of being weak

But we are all broken toys

Hoping to be fixed

With every crack, filled

Every rough edge, softened.

We are all broken.

And that's okay.