Forged

She climbed up the rungs

He'd coated with shards

of the shattered

glass house

his stones had broken

rung by rung

she pulled herself up

from the

pit

he had handed her the

shovel to

dig.

He thought that the threat

and the pain and the blood

would be

enough

to keep her there.

He didn't know she was tougher than tough

and would take all the

scars

of leaving there.

He didn't know she'd stoke the

fires

and pick from the ladder the

shards

to blow her own air in,

not hot,

for once,

to make her own heart formed

art.

She forged herself a brand new mirror,

polished,

until she finally saw herself.

She now sips from a self made cup

that is always half full

for always,

after for once,

while looking out self pained windows,

in a brick house

no stone is ever going to touch.