I may not be stunningly beautiful, I may not be super smart, I may not be what you always wanted me to be, but I have a heart. I heart so fragile I'm afraid it's made of glass. But I'd gladly give it to you again, if I only thought, it would make you feel better. Maybe it would make you feel strong to hold such a fragile thing in your hard hands again? Would it make you feel superior to gaze upon it knowing, you could do with it what you wished?
Now I know my heart could never be enough for anyone, try as I might, my heart is replaceable, always so easily dispensable. But maybe if I keep working, someday maybe, it'll be enough for some generous someone to want to keep around.
And when my glass heart is finally done, I won't give it to that someone. Oh no, I'll be stupid. I'll give it to you.
You'll hold my accomplishment in between your fingers gently. Smiling at me, you'll trace the spirals of color with your index finger untill you reach the center. Once there, you'll slowly pull back your fingers, sending my beautiful creation tumbling towards the earth. When it hits, it'll smash into three hundred tiny shards. You'll laugh, stomp on my broken pieces, and then leave me to my cleaning, never looking back.
And I'll never have the chance to give that unknown someone my glass heart. Because I'll never find the last shard. My glass heart will never be complete and I just couldn't bare to give someone so special something so imperfect. He/she would look at me in disgust thinking, "How could I ever accept someone in a shape like this?"
And how could I blame them?