We all come into the world
only to be broken inside.
We are
of broken lives and broken families
broken dreams and broken realities.
We do not realise that the first crack
small and insignificant
grows,
cutting through us ever so slowly and slightly.
We carry those scratches as a mark of resilience,
resilience known only to us.
We tape, hide, fix, gloss and prep
our brokenness for them
not ourselves.
Glass shatters
onto the floor and within the child
hiding behind closed doors in vain
to deafen the noise of warring parents outside.
Jagged, bloody bits trail after the man
staggering from bench to footpath in search of a roof.
The family breaks a tiny piece of themselves to put into the coffin,
so pieces of them remain with the lost loved one.
We face the mirrors, tears staining the surface.
We pick up the shattered pieces,
rearranged to an obscure mosaic
Only we understand.
Our low, soft voices deceive
the commotion inside our minds,
As we draw down our sleeves in shame
Hiding the scars of our pain.
At the end of the day when all are gone,
the veils are lifted and the sleeves are drawn
pieces are flung as our brokenness consumes us
Till we’re numb and ready to repeat the process
Tomorrow, Day After, Again
yet Again.