It Doesn’t Take Much

1
Breakfast taught me
it doesn’t take much
for a fight to escalate.
It could be about what he did
or what she didn’t do,
or which color should they paint
the walls, or what others will say,
or why I am who I am.
When this happens,
I stare at my cereal bowl,
and pretend that I am it, holding
within me frosted letters,
pink hearts, yellow
moons, orange stars, and green
clovers. I watch, as the pale milk
turns to rainbow. I keep quiet, and
allow this to progress, but I forget
that it doesn’t take much for
glass to shatter. One flick, and
I am no longer.

2
Brokenness taught me
it doesn’t take much
to win a fight.
I could have been his glorified trophy,
or her favorite bowl, or an art piece
that either no one cares about, or cares
too much for. I can barely
hold letters in my mouth,
much more words. I used to keep quiet
to hold it all together, but now I know
that it doesn’t take much for
glass to shatter. One flick, and
I allow myself
to splinter.

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