You sat me in the abandoned cathedral and made love to me under the mosaic stained glass window. Filling my head with thoughts of how even mismatched shapes and shades of color can be beautiful. But I’m tired of breaking myself into small pieces just so you can put them back together again. This isn’t beautiful, I am not a mosaic you can craft, I am not a holy being in a sacred place.
I am a girl of 21 trying to put myself together with the shards you left behind. My blood staining the glass in a mosaic of retribution for leaning on you. Do not make me beautiful, I am not something you can make beautiful with soft prayers and hushed tones. You are not the artist behind my disaster. I was not made for this, you did not make me this.