Breaking into pieces, pieces, pieces

And what if we could see
that our broken places could be
mended with each other’s touch?

Would we stretch out our hands
and seek the healing embraces or
would we shy away, afraid of wholeness?

Scatter ourselves in the wind,
come to dwell in many hands
and never know the ones we desire

It is all too easy to brush away
right in favor of simple, to allow
conditioning to take reign

Yet what of our hearts, I wonder
Have our hearts ever understood
the conventions placed upon them?

They are not thinking organs,
and thank the gods for that,
and for the moments when they rule.


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