I’ve picked up the pieces

of my broken heart so many times

that my fingers have never healed

from the cuts. 

They were destroyed by the jagged shards 

of a broken heart. 

My dream of writing becomes harder and harder 

as again and again, my heart is broken

which makes my hands bleed

as I pick up the pieces 

again and again. 

I hold them close to my chest

as I go from place to place, 

creating a bubble around me to protect myself

from the world. 

I rush from place to place, never slowing down

for fear of dropping the pieces and breaking 

the already broken heart more. 

But last night I stopped. 

Let my guard down. 

And when my brother said I’d kiss the boy

who bullies me every day, 

I lost it. 

The shards fell and shattered into a million pieces.

The shield fell. 

Everything unraveled. 

And the whole system I created to keep myself

from crying

failed.