Cracks

my fingers tingle 

my knuckles white 

i grasp my hopes 

“it’ll be alright”

but nothing changes 

they start to slip 

through the cracks 

that aren’t newly broken 

words fall without a chance of

ever being spoken

my heart breaks with them 

every idea is a fallen token

into a wishing well full of

of what could’ve been

what should’ve been

of my hopes and dreams 

from before i was ever torn at the seams

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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