For a friend
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You are the shards of a mirror used in a mosaic.
You catch the Light as you did before you shattered,
And yet the Light is more beautiful for it all—
The breaking, the cracking, the gluing,
Who am I?
What am I?
I have questioned myself since I could talk
I was given this identity from the day I was able to walk
My father calls me daddies little girl
The South Scenic Call
It’s morbid
To give it a name;
Such a pretty name.
A name that rolls easily
She writes her own music
Her piano offers a release
It's the only time when
The bad thoughts finally cease
Her parents do not know
They would never understand
