Damage/Armor.

I’m damaged,
cracked like a bottle
thrown against a brick wall,
each shard reflecting
the twisted mess of things
that came before.

I know the source,
the place where pain took root,
where innocence met its end
and trust shattered
like a flimsy mirror
under a hammer’s blow.

I carry the weight,
but I won’t pass it on—
won’t let this burden breed,
won’t forge another chain
of suffering.

I know the taste of brokenness,
the sting of betrayal,
the hollow ache
that lingers in the night.

I’ll keep my wounds,
patch them up with poetry,
with books and my kind of music,
but I’ll never inflict the same
on anyone else.

I refuse to be the villain
in someone else’s story.
I’ll take my damage
and wear it like armor,
a reminder of what I’ll never do,
what I’ll never be.

-G