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The grit you feel under your feet
means you're walking on glass,
on eggshells,
on my broken past.
I only notice it when I see
you tiptoeing around. Trying not
to leave any footprints.
Trying not to get hurt.
You smile. You pretend that
everything is normal. While
the glass and eggshells
break through the thin skin
of what you can tolerate.
If I make you feel that way,
like everything is fragile
then . . . I'm sorry.
I'm just use to walking on it.
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This was written with such intelligence, it seeps through your writing, "on glass, on eggshells,on my broken past." That is such a good line and sets the tone for the rest of the poem. I really liked it.
