My mother collected pretty things
Jewelry, Plates, villages of wood
Holiday things and cat things
She liked to surround herself with
memories and beauty
Many times I felt like
I did not belong among
the collections
I wasn't a pretty thing
to be treasured and displayed
Rather I was a reminder
of things that went wrong,
things she didn't want to recall
today I am packing to move
to a home that is all mine,
never shared with my past
I am excited, I am packing
the few pretty things I have
Suddenly, a goblet shattered
the play of emotions in my breast
the sadness, the initial panic
the feeling that my mother
would be disappointed in me yet again
I felt like a child
I broke love
and made my mother
find yet another reason
to turn away from
the one thing in her life
that wasn't a displayable
object of beauty.
Me, I am a broken glass, and I need the glue of love.
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