• Liner runs thin
    as I examine the skin
    where I look for a tell-tale mark
    Left of a ring that would prove
    I'm not alone.
    (it's not there)

    My back arches and
    my body quakes
    as deep inside
    Infantile sexuality wakes
    as my lips let fly
    assumed and guessed sighs
    of fabricated pleasure
    (whatever that is)

    They did not teach me these things
    I was left to assume
    as hearts often do
    when they are kept in a room
    and ushered away from the pains and joys
    of Love

    I stare into a mirror
    and I stare back
    Until all of a sudden
    my smile cracks
    and I'm left to stare
    into the eyes of one
    born to lose.

    I hug warm pillows
    and stroke my own hair
    Until I realize he
    is not
    wasn't
    and will never be there
    and I'm left to assemble
    a Shattered Glass Heart
    with nothing but hammers for tools

    But then I see myself
    beauty and flaws defined
    and at this point I know
    the only glass heart I need
    is mine
    even in pieces, it retains it's strength
    and waits to be whole again

    So dormant I sit
    mesmerized by the prisms the pretty pieces make
    as I wait
    for a true artist to come
    and give this
    Shattered Glass Heart
    new form
    with the heat of reassuring and shared existence
    and the grace of gentle words and sweet kisses.