There’s something to be said
about a broken man.
A man who looks in the mirror—
but only barely sees himself
in the shards of shattered glass.
A man who wouldn’t want anyone
to get cut
trying to sort through the debris.
Because those wounds?
They’d live in his conscience—
as voluntary hostages.
Whether he liked it or not.
There’s a lot to be said
about a man who’s lost count
of the times he’s tried
to repair this mirror.
With the tacky glue of broken promises,
and visions of flimsy forevers.
There’s something to be said
about a man
who is just as cracked
as his reflection—
But never buys a new mirror.
Still leaves the door
of his heart
wide open.
Still leaves the light on.
In hope.
In defiance.
In love.
In hopes that someone—
just one—
will come join him
on the floor.
And show him the beauty
in all that is broken.
