Unbroken
Sophie Helena Biervert Standing at the very edge, My heart in my hands, At the very border.
Maybe once I would have clung on to it, Clutched it.
Tried to hammer it back into my chest,
Begged my ribs to cave the beating thing in, Prayed that they keep it safe and hidden. Maybe once I stood at this edge, Blood dripping,
The thing in pieces,
My face split and broken
In the reflection of its light. Maybe once I peered down at the ground, From the tower where I was standing,
The thing blue and bruised, like a baby, cupped in my hands, My tears soaking it in a river of sorrow Maybe I would have thrown it away. Now I find myself at this same edge. This cliff,
This height.
And I have it in my hands,
I’m not blind; but I’m not harsh, nor cruel.
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