Is there ever a good time to cry?

I suppose I shall ponder on that question

until the day I die.

When will I feel pain from shunned wounds?

I suppose I won’t know the answer

until it finally obtrudes.

How long can I secretly harbor this hate?

I suppose I will not be exposed

until an eruption of the breastplate.

What will happen if I fully give myself freedom?

I suppose I expect no one to object

until they see its self-treason.

Who said happiness wasn’t for me?

I suppose I will one day confront but

until then I hold the only key.

Where do you place broken pieces of colour?

I suppose I will one day display them with pride

until then I’ll hide them

beneath my mosaic collar