Smashing Glass
It wasn’t rage that did it
just something sharp and clear
a need to hear the silence
shatter close and near
No warning in the breaking
just weight that slipped and fell
a flash of something aching
too jagged now to tell
It scattered like a secret
I couldn’t hold inside
and every piece that glittered
was something I had lied
The floor became a mirror
of things I couldn’t name
and standing there in quiet
I didn’t feel the same
You came too late to stop it
your voice too soft, too slow
I stared at all that damage
and knew you’d never know
It wasn’t just the window
or wineglass in my hand
it was the part inside me
you never tried to understand
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (2)
This poem cuts deep with quiet intensity. 💔 The imagery of breaking glass as a metaphor for internal fracture is powerful and haunting. Every stanza builds a deeper ache — beautifully written and emotionally raw.
I think we all had times or moments like this for whatever reason that presented itself in this way. Good job.