I told you I was broken
and with a manic urgency you set off
screaming down the road of
destructive positivity –
“You’re perfect, babydoll.”
“You’re just fine.”
“Are you smoking crack, ‘cause that’s broken.
And you aren’t broken.”
I am okay with my broken.
I have no need to lessen who I am.
I am the steep, sharp edges of a cliffside.
I have watched as fickle shards of myself have cracked,
slipped and fallen into the sea.
I am headlights careening off
the sparkling bits of broken mirror glass.
I am shadow men lurking in the bushes,
and one hell of an autonomic system.
I am human glitter –
a thousand, million pieces of all the things that have happened,
sharp and sparkling and elusive enough
to hide in your very plain sight.
So no, I’m not “smoking crack” broken.
I’m me, broken.
And we’re all glitter from down here.
© Laura A Lord, 2021
Thank you to MindLoveMisery for the prompt.