Yet Still About a Broken Heart

Broken hearts and restless nights
How poetic is thy life?
As the rainy skies turn grey
Makes pretty rainbows full of light

What a perfect picture
As pretty as it seems
The separate colours belong together
In broken hearts and weary dreams

Teacher, what defines a poem?
Rhyming and alliteration?
Those poetic words mean nothing
Without communication

But what is this poem saying?
Broken hearts or restless sleep?
Pretty pictures or communication?
Or little insecurities that you keep?

All those little situations
Do you replay them inside?
Do you tear apart the roller coaster?
Or do you go along for the ride?

Do you have another method?
Reader, what do you do?
Screaming silent confessions?
Are they too good for you?

The loudest of confessions
Or the sweetest silent lie
Crystal littles teardrop
Raindrops from the sky

Crystal little teardrop
Turns to a glass shard
Slipping down your cheek
Making fake smiles hard

Little crystal shard
Does it tear you apart?
This poem's about so many things
Yet still about a broken heart

Broken heart, Dear Reader
Little shards cast rainbow lights
Close your eyes, Dear Reader
Broken hearts yield restless nights

I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken -- and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived.
~Margaret Mitchell