It's called a bad omen
To have glass break
But how can I call it bad
When I love the way the shattered pieces glisten like a lake
A lake where I go to clear my mind, in a crisis
A lake where I shared my first kiss.
It's called a scar
If your skin got hurt and it healed
But how can I be ashamed of all the ones I have
When they're proof I didn't break under what I was being through,
that I never kneeled.
💪🏻🥊. It's called wrong
If it doesn't fit their definition of right
But how I can I believe them
When I know they're all made of fear, passing it on to me and all their children, through the night,
the ones who've become too afraid of the light.
🔥✨. It's called love
When he shares his being with hers
But how can I allow myself to receive it
When it's hard for this girl who thought loving people is what sent them away,
who's spent her life undoing that curse.
🦀🌸👻. It's called making love
If it's an act of consented, loving intercourse
But how can I consider that a finish line to be crossed
When I know that love isn't made on the bed,
it's made day in and day out - in the way you give your breath, your heartbeat, your tears to each other,
it's feeling that everything's come back to you, everything that you ever lost.
💒❤️🌹. It's called breaking
When you can hear the cracks and see a lack
But how can I consider me broken
choosing to see a lack says so much more about the person who is seeing than the one being seen,
When dawn is something that breaks too
and lights up the world every morning,
When I've realized that the cracked is what heals,
And it's the reason I'm always brought back.
pc. : 💰