FRAGILE

As I pack up my

Life (to leave behind

the supposed "comfort"

of this rut I insisted on

furnishing) I scratch out

old labels on my secondhand

Boxes (secondhand clothing,

secondhand furniture,

secondhand existence)

So many are formerly marked

'FRAGILE'…

But almost nothing I own is

Fragile–

Not even my heart,

since it's been

pulled apart and

Taped together so many

Times, reinforced with

Impassive padding, cushioned

With apathy, protected by

Walls built piece by piece

by years of tears that

Encrusted once-sensitive

Eyes.

I have become

Invulnerable to the world's

Woes, silent and resigned

To never let anyone in

Ever again.

I pack the knicks and the knacks

And the notes I am

Keeping for no particular

Reason aside from nostalgia

And to remind myself

Of the times I made

Mistakes, allowed access to

parts of me

That could

Break.

No,

I'm

not

'fragile'

Yet…

(but maybe,

just maybe,

with you

I could be).