Fragile – Someone to Belong To


An echo sounded so anonymous,
spent on breath that seemed to never mind.
Felled a heart upon a concrete floor
shattered to pieces that were left behind.
A solemn occasion that one might condone,
a prayer sent high to the lights of God above.
Angels’ tears upon a swollen soul
filled to bursting upon a self-reproaching love.

A child cries with loud belligerence,
sobs to a mother who gives every order strong.
A smile on her soft and weary face
as she ponders how long she’s able to go on.
The child, scared, but more for her than she,
asks a moment if God might have ears for her.
Listen, she asks, won’t you please promise me,
make this a life that she would want to bear.

A touch so soft, it felt a whispered breeze
and words so soft they feel they’ll never scar,
the child bends to retrieve the broken glass,
but the cuts and burns are never too far.
Her fingers bleed from the shards that cut too deep,
torn flesh that screams in pain that’s sheltered there.
The child looks around, cautious that one might see
and see enough to stop, someone that might have cared.

He watches as she tries to keep herself,
glues the pieces back of her now shattered glass.
Takes the pieces in his hands himself,
tears his own flesh instead, that she might be free at last.
She cries because he is now hurt again,
wraps her arms around the boy as he tries.
Whispers her love in soft-spoken pleasantries,
listens softly, and then the child cries.

Everyone else has tried to steal the glass,
won’t touch her for she is just a tortured soul.
Fragile, easy to shatter with a thought,
so gentle that she might have never known.
Her holds her close, and tight with long-locked arms,
so close she feels a burst of welcomed pain.
She is no more a child to him,
but a woman, as such, she feels she will remain.

And she holds him close and thanks him silently,
that he has healed a sorrow buried deep.
So close to her shattered, fragile, glass-broken heart
that she’s given to him for him to forever keep.
And the others to Hell, she insists softly,
she is not a tiny sickly child.
She has been healed for nearly all her life
and only weaker for a little while.

He wrestles her soft and to the ground,
plays as if they had the entire world.
Soothes her with his touch and embrace
lifts her heart with a single word.
He treats her as if she were never ill,
gives her his word that he loves her true.
Promises her that she means his world
and she finally has someone to belong to.


About Mattie J.

My name is Mattie J. Hamilton, and I am seventeen years old. I live in a cute little house in the country in Southern Indiana, and have lived there my entire life. I self-published two books of poetry a few years ago, but I much prefer writing fiction of poetry, journalism, or any other sort of writing. I'm somewhat new to the blogging world, and I may come off as a bit of an ameteur, but hey, I am an ameteur. Proud of it. After all, I'm just a kid, and I have plenty of time to learn.

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