Fractured Image
Words dance on the tip of my tongue
I swallow them before they come.
Don’t be braggadocious.
Dissecting people’s stares
To figure out if I’m enough
Doesn’t help that I’m short.
Should I mention that?
No.
Not everyone knows I’m 5’3”
They wouldn’t get the joke.
I’ll smile and laugh,
Glazing over at the eyes
As I fantasize being secure
In life.
The relationships I strive to keep
Will fall to pieces at my feet
If I say the wrong thing
If I dare to be me.
Am I laughing too loud?
Am I not talking enough?
Or am I talking excessively?
Perhaps my fidgeting is just too much.
Wait! No, please don’t leave.
I’ll change, I’ll rearrange
Until all my pieces fit with your’s
Like stained glass of silver and gold
Years pass and I’m shattered like broken glass
The gold was of a fool’s
The silver rusted at the first sign of tears.
I could never say anything to keep them here
I fused together my pieces
Until I was a jagged mirror,
A distorted image of what I was before.
Yet words still danced at the tip of my tongue.
Then, I spoke the words from my mind
The wounds healed into scars
The scars faded with time
My words are my weapons
I can fight the battle
I have the power
To build and move mountains
I find people who don’t leave.
They don’t care if I’m braggadocious
Or that I’m 5’3”.
Maybe they love me for me.