​

 

Like the vase that sits on the fireplace mantle. 

 

Unadmired.

 

Untouched. 

 

Unrecognized. 

 

I am an object of no consequence… until I shatter. 

 

On the mantle I am whole. 

 

Empty, yes… but in one piece.  

 

Thus, I demand no attention. 

 

So, the years go by... 

 

and the dust collects. 

 

All while I sit...

 

Unmoved and Unmarred...

 

Unnoticed.

 

...Until. 

 

             ...The day. 

 

                                ... I break. 

 

And, when I break, that is when the story comes. 

 

The tale of where I came from. 

 

Why I matter. 

 

The monetary value that I hold. 

 

When I am undone, all eyes are drawn to my

 

pieces. 

 

Bright and beautiful…. 

 

But also

 

Jagged.

 

Scattered and strewn...

 

All. Across. The Floor. 

 

And it’s no one’s fault… 

 

not really. 

 

I should not have held so still. 

 

I should not have been so fragile. 

 

I should have had my fill 

 

Of time. On the shelf. By then. 

 

So I contemplate my shambles 

 

As someone runs to grab the broom.  

 

And in pieces I remember 

 

...that I am no longer empty. 

 

In fragments I see that I am something to someone… 

 

That my existence has a purpose. 

 

And, as I am swept into oblivion,

 

I realize... 

 

That Broken I am valueless, 

 

But 

 

 

Only Broken do I understand my worth.