Your Fragile Self

by Trampled Angel   Aug 24, 2018


These glass orbs,
eggshells,
fragile butterfly wings,
and dying leafs,
these fragments of you -
they caution any tread
heavier than a tip-toe,
any sound above a whisper,
any light beyond a shadow.
Only soft touches,
the most gentle caresses,
can belong here.

But
I am fire,
burning bright -
with action,
with meaning,
with light.
I am storm,
fierce and chaotic,
unpredictable and strong,
force and fury,
movement, and life.

I am not made to be gentle.
I am not particularly kind.
I am made to burn brightly,
just trying not to burn the world, too.
Where are the words to say?
I try to find them,
seek them always,
and choose the wrong ones, always.
You can’t tell me the words to say,
and still you need them from me.

I do not know
the words,
the touches,
the sounds,
the tread,
you are desperate for.
I cannot give you what you need,
and in my clumsy attempts to try
I lose the patience I never had.
I cannot save you,
while I’m desperately trying to save myself.

And I look at you and sigh;
I see no courage here -
no flame, no spark, no life,
no change, no hope, no fight,
in this world of fragile things,
in this you,
I see little I am used to.

I want to change,
I need to change,
to understand this fragile world of you.
Is love change or acceptance?
Or both?
Or neither?
Is this even love?

And there,
in the back of my mind,
lies the constant fear
of harming you.
If I stay,
or if I go,
what damage will I do to you?
I am not gentle.
I am not patient.
I am not kind.
I am the unintending breaker
of fragile things,
and I fear, as myself,
I will break you.

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Latest Comments

  • 2 months ago

    by - Mr. Darcy

    How to hold and care for a moth with fiery hands?
    I really like this.
    Thanks.
    Its going into my favourites.

    • 2 months ago

      by Trampled Angel

      Thanks for reading! I’m glad it spoke to you.

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