If the broken pieces
didn’t blind him,
cripple him,
impale him,
perhaps he’d be free
to see her pain.
And seeing, to embrace it,
tame it, and more–
for her to show him
what she knows,
that slivers can be pulled,
that slats can be hammered,
that broken pieces can grow into crutches,
that the cracks of fractures
can be patched into a quilt
for a bed of nails.
Oh, he is broken, but
Comfort is where you find it.
Shawn L. Bird 
awesome write up 🙂
Thanks for stopping by, Joey!
Lol this has me super interested how do so many bloggers know my name! Lol does it show it somewhere?
I can see your email address (and your wordpress page url) next to your comment in my feed. 🙂 If you’re trying to be anonymous, you need a new email address! lol
Haha no it’s totally fine I was just always curious how people knew my name rofl! Thank you for solving that!
You’re welcome. 😉
Very powerful, thoughtful and beautiful.
Thanks, Melody.
Once upon a time, a rain-soaked sleeping bag, and an occupant too tired to care. Comfort is indeed where you find it.
🙂