Last one chosen

How ugly
Dark and discoloured
Unevenly spaced
Crumbling bits coating each line

The stares and the whispers and the wondering what could be wrong when everything seems right
That word, seems.
How deceiving
No one looks past what they see
No one questions out loud
No one remembers or is haunted by the sight of mutilated flesh

No one goes home
Not really home but an adequate term
And shudders in the emptiness of a mirror
How ugly
And finds an unblemished spot
And digs into the soft flesh

It’s okay if it scars
At least these were chosen

Safe glass boxes

You’ll shatter
A thousand times over
When your mother dies
When you question your morals, your sexuality,
When you fail to please someone
When you look at yourself in the mirror
You’ll break into shards dangerous mostly to yourself

I’ll fall apart several times a day
No real reason but you’ll find me on the floor
Spilled wine and crumbs of glass
Scattered empty boxes discarded when they move on

Please don’t step on me
In your rush to run away from the world and from yourself

I don’t want to hurt you
I don’t want you to hurt you.

Lie down beside me
Align your broken pieces with mine.
Let blood mix with wine
Your flesh with mine
And your mind into the abyss of this empty box