Commentary on the psychoanalysis of others and their characters
I feel almost like I’m
Like the snow globe shaken by a kid that
Wasn’t holding it tight enough–
I fell to the ground and cracked
And the glitter and liquid seeped out.
I feel sort of like I’m
Like the shirt that sits on
The clearance rack
In some cheap department store
With a few loose threads here
And there, and a little stretched out
From being taken on and off
Of stranger, after stranger.
I’m a lot like
Like that toy from the dollar store
That you bought your kid
Just the other day;
I’m cheap like that– I break easily.
I’ve accepted that I am
I break things off like that to protect myself.
I stretch myself trying to keep something
Anything alive for once in my life,
But I’m only let down again.
Then there are holes in my heart and my mind
That seemingly nothing can fix, and I
Push people away for fear they’ll cut their fingers
On the cracks in my snow globe.
And yet, I’m less afraid of shattering myself than I am
Of people stepping bare-footed on these shards.
And I am the
But I'll be sure I'm not damaged