Damaged Goods.
Location
You make me feel a certain kind of way;
A way that my mind, which is programmed to overanalyze everything back to the focal point of the beginning of humanity,
can't seem to comprehend.
You make me feel like I can
move mountains and write a novel;
But you also make me feel
as small as an anthill
as fragile as my mother's favorite vase
When I was born, the doctor put a "handle with care" sticker on me, and
declared me fragile.
When they finally shipped me off into the real world,
I cracked.
I shook. Pieces of me were on the ground,
and my glass-cut fingers were unable to pick them up.
I was labeled as "Damaged."
You took a stroll down the street, and followed the trail of broken glass to where I was.
You picked me up, dusted me off, and tried to fit the pieces back in place.
You didn't get mad when some of them wouldn't fit.
You have a certain kind of power over me, and darling,
I sure hope you like damaged goods.