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Shattered

HNY everyone, here's to the mistakes you've yet to make...


I want to shatter glass. Pass my fist through the sun kissed surface and see if it’d resist. Just once, let impulse make the call. Just once, let it purposefully be my fault. But the shards are hard to clean and my knuckles bleed too much for someone who doesn’t want to scrub the carpet. Like arson, destruction of property is too lofty of a goal for someone who has to practice losing control. But imagine words as sharp as shards, not coated in the rubber of regard. I grasp to a deep, immovable need to have the world cease seeing me as sweet. It’s as crazy as being lazy on a Wednesday afternoon, as treating the last day of June as a holiday for no other reason than because poppies are in bloom. There’s too much to do. Imagine hitting submit before the edits, sending a text with typos in it and not cringing at you’re mistake. Oh, I hate it, make it right, type the “your” you’re supposed to write. I sigh, that’s why my hand can twitch and turn but I’ll never feel the burnt edges of a match scratched out by fingertips. It’s why I’m so reliable, it's why my spine feels pliable. It’s why as much as I may try to guide my fist towards the glass, it never crashes, never smashes, never passes through..

Well, that’s new.

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