dispensing into other people's life
was once hurt and damaged
she kept the brokenness inside
— the hurt of a metal hammer
into her fragile glass foundation
Assumed to be healed
But leaking pride and prejudice
She longed for the years wasted
to be redeemed
Chasing for what she did not know
and could not find
Her brokenness pushed her too rashly
to believe that what she has now
is the dream
— but it is a stolen dream
Would you rather receive strong muscles
which you did not train
Or journey with determination
although not without pain
to gain those muscles?
Maturity is hard to resist
But its context should be proper
Is your stolen dream becoming true
worth defending?
Is your justification right?
What happened, O bitter soul,
why do you not trust your friends to be vulnerable to them
You distrust those who truly care for you
for the one care which may or may not last
A great mistake if this is true,
is that
You think you know the human heart
The more you think you know
the less you actually do.
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