Literature
A Million Pieces
"Am I allowed to love you?"
They asked me, as though love
somehow needed my consent.
Love was a wildfire, it was
thunder on the plains; it was
something that happened to you,
the only choice was
how you rode the lightning.
If you sailed the choppy waters,
crashed upon the rocks, and
splintered into a million pieces
all in the name of "love"
then you chose wrong.
There was no patience in love.
No one had ever done me
the courtesy of knocking first
and one look was all it took to see
there was no shelter here;
there was not even a roof.
Just a million pieces,
shattered in someone else's name.
"It's broken," I said, expecting again