I died a little when you would hold me. I never felt 100% right. I never felt that you were ever mine. I was never given the opportunity to have you always. you would approach me when we were alone arms open wide as you slowly would move towards me as my heart would begin to pound. as you would wrap your built arms around my fragile body I would embrace the warmth you brought to me as I would begin to calm and forget even just for a moment what my head was actually thinking. but I shook it off as you pulled me as close to you as physically possible. and my breath was interupped even just for a moment. 

I stopped. I stopped thinking about they words that were spoken about the hearts that had been broken about the time that everything was taking the words that never stopped shaking on my tongue in my head in my bones in my heart in my mind in my skin. Every muscle quaked at the thought of you hurting me again so I didn't let go and let you suck the breath from me again because the numb you made me feel felt so much better than the numb I actually was to everything. Every word every title every mock every scold every break every twist every mold everything you wanted I gave. Every hope I had you seemed to crush gently...then all at once. All at once everything I had ever held close to me was shattered at my feet. Like a revived broken glass vase it may still hold the flowers but the perfection is gone. The faults are showing so harshly that there is no way that they are missed. The world can see that they were shattered. Into pieces. Into shards. Into bits and bruised left on me from the actions you though we're okay. That I told myself was okay. That I wanted so desperately to be okay. But they weren't. So now this cracked vase is on display in the Natural History Museum under the title "This isn't what they mention in the books". That there is so much to History then just the facts. Just the information. There are stories with real raw emotion. There are struggles you will feel daily. When you go through the 1930s depression inside of you hold your resume on your chest like a medal. Hoping for someone who will see your worth despite your current situation. Just need a job. Something to preoccupy my mind while I heal. Something to buffer my wounds.

I died when you never told me why you had to take the baseball bat and knock me off the coffee table. Why you had to shatter the vase. Why you had to give me these visible scars so repulsive and distorted.

I stopped. I stopped and caught my breath. I stopped looking at my cracks. I stopped looking at my cracks and begin to see the flowers, the colors, the wonders I could still hold despite of it all. I still had a beautiful purpose.