Broken

c. 2014

I stand before you today with something that I consider an achievement.

I�"the 18 year old, clumsy as hell girl in front of you�"

Have never broken a bone.

I have never felt the pain of a snapped limb,

Nor the popularity once you show up with a cast.

I have never felt the support of others when they sign their name

Upon the rough texture of my brace.

I have never felt the incessant need to return to things

My cast would bar me from participating in.

No, unlike my peers who faced the downfalls of childhood quite literally,

My body never broke.

The only cast I knew was skin,

The only well wishes I knew were from my hand alone,

The only thing I knew I needed to get back to was fantasy land,

Where everything was happy and I could say whatever I wanted

But my cast covered my mouth and someone else drew my mask,

A portrait of the happy girl they thought I would be.

The crimson sharpie that wrote well wishes across my rough cast

Would never run dry,

Would never stop marking,

Would never stop wishing me well.

My nails scratched at the itchy cast,

Wanting nothing more than to be free of the healing process

And just naturally grin and bear it through the pain.

In my cask,

The world was seen through tiny slits that mainly yielded the shadow from the underside.

My sight was clouded by the edges of what was supposed to heal me,

Leaving me believing the world was darker than I had ever know it to be before.

Every word I muttered was filtered by my skin.

I say: I need you

The cast says: Thanks for the invite, but I just want to go home

I say: I’m dying

The cast says: I’ve never felt so alive

I say: help me

The cast says: I’m fine

So understand,

once the cast finally lets my broken soul breathe and I finally have a chance to speak,

the mask won’t be speaking anymore.

So understand,

When I say “I’m broken,” I’m telling you “I love you”

In a language I understand.