Broken Glass.

you were like a
broken glass that had been
glued back together by another path in your past.
you were delicate.
and i wanted nothing more
but to be part of the reasons
you stayed together.
no matter how i adjusted myself
to fit inside of you
like a rose in a too small vase.
your pieces were still wet
and sticky
and i did nothing more but
get glue on my peace.
i loved every bit of you.
every piece.
even the pieces of you
that you tried to not acknowledge.
but i did.
and that was never good enough.
i was still told to be more quiet.
less soft.
more absent from myself.
i never meant to cause pain,
but there came a point where the glass got thrown
across the floor.
and there was nothing really left of you,
but pieces.
yet i still changed myself.
dropped more petals,
took the thorns off of my stem.
I’ve never experienced hate after love,
but the fire you spit out
was only put there to scorn me.
and i cannot figure out
how many more
petals and thorns
you would have wanted me to rid
before you would have loved me fully.
before i could fit inside of your pieces.