Pandora's Aquarium: Fractured glass (a therapy poem) - Pandora's Aquarium

Am I so easily broken
that one gentle contact
causes me to fracture,
splinter,
send crashing
all my jagged edges?
My fragile self collapses
with a breath of your warmth,
and sends shards
of unapologetic self loathing
flying angrily at me,
until the smiling facade
falls unceremoniously apart.

My fractured glass
leaves me exposed,
bare,
lying before you,
naked,
in all my infantile fragility.
My long held facade
is insubstantial,
flimsy,
with age-old pressure cracks,
that cannot withstand
your gentle soothing touch.
My glazed armor
simply melts
with the milky sound of your maternal voice.

Behind the glass
is an embryonic me,
damaged
before she could gently uncurl,
abused
before she could know love or comfort,
banished
into the icy cavern
of a jealous mother
who punished her tiny daughter.
My splintered self
grew jagged and dangerous
in the frosty dungeons
where no mother
ever deigned to visit.

Now
my crackled facade
disintegrates
in the warmth
of your soothing
maternal eye.
My newborn self
feels frightened,
withdraws,
curled up protectively,
hiding
amongst your cushions,
yet peering out
hopefully,
from the safety of your therapeutic couch.