We were young,
or I was-
and idealistic,
before the hard hammer of disappointment struck
with a fiendish vengeance.
Thinking nothing of giving myself
as easily as water slipping over a rock.
Because I had not learned yet
the great worth of my own heart.
The body is worth less than nothing;
as the years pass
it is an anchor that weighs us down,
a ship's rusty anchor.
Our indestructible core
is agile and lightening quick,
ageless-the only valuable piece.
Even the mind ebbs away
as the tide carries off our love of this dirty world.
So, dance will you, will you dance
when the moon hangs heavy in the sky
and the sunrise dazzles in soft swipes of pastel.
When the magic of daylight falls from the sky
to bid you a fond farewell?
Remember, won't you
that you are worth a thousand fond goodbyes?
Oh, I gave myself without a second thought
not realizing I was the Latin queen
with mean dark eyes of thunder
and a catatonic stare.
I was ferocious as a lion's roar, yet I knew it not
for we of genuine crystal never see our own brilliance.
Broken is what I was,
made to be broken as a maiden.
I knew nothing else.
How does it feel to be a broken pot?
Leaking when I tried to hide,
always wanting, but knowing
I could not hold you.
Always facing emptiness
when I deserved happiness.
I was a broken pot
and a vessel of fine crystal
because I rose above myself.
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