My mind is a dinner plate, filled with foods that I cannot eat
It is shattered, as if to say I threw it
I threw it to say you cannot control me,
so in essence,
it controls me,
convinces me with its porclain facade
to reject,
Bury the idea that I could ever be okay
With being something more than a void
A place where others go to bury themselves
My mind was a graveyard of the sorrows gifted to me for burial,
I let them take up space, fill my empty with their collections of the most beautiful plates, ones that are empty and unscathed.
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