You meandered around, seeing all the nice things
the broken bits
and confusing spectacles.
Saw and wanted the finest pieces,
held them near for a time or two.
Never to stay for long.
Maybe not a bull,
but unaware of the impact of a swinging bag.
I let it exist,
believed it to be true,
strong enough.
But I am a china shop.
A beautiful, packed shop.
The fragility and openness I no longer dismay.
It's ok, maybe you didn't know.
Never met one like me.
I left the door wide open, didn't believe in locks.
thank you.
The brokenness isn't so bad,
the bittersweet of the pain is tolerable for now.
Now I have a padlock
and duplicate keys.
To keep it all more secure and stable and able.
Thank you, my lost love.
You taught me to take the good with the bad,
to know faith and heartache.
Broke some pieces along the way,
but there is more to see, more to share.
The lessons are important, I suppose.
The lock on this china shop
will keep me safe.
It'll be ok.
One day soon I'll forgive the carelessness,
the jaded conventions of friendship
and proclamations of fidelity.
My lock is working just fine
and the glue is stronger than a gorilla, too.
Thank you for teaching me how to beautifully break.
I'm still here, you see.
Standing and breaking and irreversibly shaken.
Can't look away from the truth that I am.
A lovely, open china shop.
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