The Cracks in My Sky

 






The Cracks in My Sky

Do you know what it feels like to live inside a glass jar?
The world is there so close, but I can’t touch it.
I scream, but the sound bounces back,
trapping me with my own voice,
my own despair.

They say I’m fragile,
but they are the ones who throw stones.
Each crack in the glass is a scar on my soul,
each shard a piece of me they took.

Then there's a voice, it rings like thunder,
telling me to step out into a storm I didn’t ask for.
She calls it love,
but love isn’t supposed to make you drown.
I wanted roots, a place to grow,
but she handed me wings and shoved me into the wind.

And there's him,
his hands were maps of discipline,
but they never led me home.
They only left bruises,
reminders of the places I didn’t belong.

I look in the mirror,
and I see their portions carved into my skin.
Too much, too little, too broken.
A nose that doesn’t fit,
hair that glistens with shame,
eyes that still beg for approval.


But what do they know about this chaos?
This storm inside my chest
that rages without warning,
tearing apart the fragile pieces I tried to glue together.

I want to scream,
but I’m tired of my own echoes.
I want to cry,
but the tears feel like drowning.
I want to fight,
but the battlefield is me,
and I’m already losing.

So here I am,
a fragile jar with too many cracks,
wondering if the light will ever shine through
or if it will only leave me shattered.















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