I see them trample on your eggshell heart,
Without a care of whether it will break.
My instinct to dash forth and protect ricochets in my mind,
But I know I cannot and to stand still until you call
Or waver and glance needing reassurance that the shell has not broken,
At least not beyond repair this time.
It grows stronger, tougher every onslaught
But it shouldn’t have to, it shouldn’t.
I swallow my anger for that helps no-one
Least of all you who needs my heart to heal the cracks
You try to cover in your eggshell heart.
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015