stone and glass

You told me this was delicate

fragile

a flower. a thin piece of glass.

I heard you and so I carry it 

a certain way

cupped in my palms

like holy water

an offering

a beautiful little thing that only 

we can see.

You failed to mention that while I'm the one

who gets to carry it

this gift we gave to each other

you're the one who gets to 

crush it

smash it

shatter it 

spill it on the floor

expecting that I can form it anew

from pieces on the ground

wondering why it looks different

after I've done my best to put it together again.

So what is it that you really want?

Stone

or glass?

You can't be one,

expect me to be another,

and still wonder why we break.