The number hung on my mirror like a past holiday.
The backwards 5 hung in my mind like a twisted balloon animal.
And I’ll never forget the shattering.
As the number slipped under the wooden floor.





I tried to forget you that black sharpie cloudy day.
But who knew you could color more than the sky. . .
I tried to taste the cotton candy before it floated away like dust.
You blew the entire bubblegum flavor out before I could taste the sweetness.





My mouth is dry with hopelessness. And all I breathe is guilt.






I walked for the first time that day.
As if I’ve been cowered in a corner for years.
Scared to face the world, to become something more than a thin stroke on a canvas.
I wish you’d hold me up like the easel that held up my picture for years.








I’d let you paint me now. But an angel so torn would only be left unfinished.









I hung around for a while.
Sitting on the sidewalk.
Touching every crack as I ran my finger down each one.
Realizing it matched every bruise and ripped bandage on my skin.





..But concrete couldn’t hurt this bad..





You came along as I waited for the sun to set.
Dropping a rose at my feet.
Yellow. Yellow.
Always Yellow.




Half broken with tiny creases along the petals.
I kissed every one, as you painted me that day.









Still fingering every crack in the sidewalk.









As I was left.





















Unfinished.

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