For Isabella Pontanares
Perhaps they're right when they call us broken;
When we so often risk sanity for
Love; leaving hearts exposed in this barren
World – yielding all to those we would adore.
Others' failure to see our scars cannot
Make us free of pain. In truth, we endure
A hurt deeper than blades can reach; a rot
Within – vile self-doubt, immune to cure.
Yet, as each breath begs surrender, we find
The strength to carry on; some ghostly hand
To pull us through in both body and mind.
'Tis certain time will become the glue, and
Someday we'll be
surprised to discover
Our shattered pieces fit back together.