You look at me.
Eyes expecting.
You think I’m full.

I’m not.
I’m just an empty plate.
I’ve a crack down the middle.

What do you think I can hold?
I’m split. Yet you think I’m full,
I’m broken and useless.

A crack down the middle.
You still use me, even though I broke.
Everything just falls out.

One day you piece me together,
But I know I will just break.
You can’t fully repair something broken.

I’m a broken plate.
No matter how much you fix me,
I will always be broken.

With a crack down the middle,


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