Hello friends. I wrote a poem this week because I straight up ran out of ideas. This poem is pretty self-explanatory - it's just about glass. No deeper meaning, no hidden message. Just glass.
I like to throw things.
I like to hurl things at a blank wall and watch them explode like fireworks against a clouded sky,
creating art, or something like it.
Like china and glass, bottles and forgotten, dusty mirrors.
So frighteningly simple.
There's always one moment, though, after something leaves my hand.
One moment where I wish I hadn't thrown it.
But then that satisfying shatter sounds
and it feels so good to just be alive and awake.
I don't like to break things, but I love watching them break.
That melodic, chiming crunch against stone or brick or mortar or plaster.
It makes my life worth living.
That disarray of broken china makes everything okay again.
But I must be careful.
If I throw it too hard, the shards are just glitter paving the floor
and I have nothing to use to create something new.