I am the only person in the world that lives with a broken heart.
I wake up every morning hoping that I haven't lost a piece.
I carry it around with caution.
Until I find some glue.
Or tape.
I go through the day, covering it.
Acting like it isn't broken.
If no one asks, I don't have to tell.
I go to bed, hoping that it will be repaired in the morning.
Then I wake up…
Hoping that I haven't lost a piece
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem