"You're not broken"
she tells me in that
tell tale high voice.
She tries to be calming
but I'm kinda a lost cause.
Each new therapist treats me
like I'm fragile while telling me
that I'm not broken. But they're
dead wrong.
I am broken and have been for
years.
I am beat up and tumbled and broken
and cut and scarred from the shit I've been through.
I'm alive, but I'm shattered.
If you cut a tree down and it fell,
you would still know it's a tree
even though it's now
broken.
That's me. I'm broken
but still here and recognized.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryA collection of poems by me about lie, depression, and other mental health stuff. TW: These poems discuss suicide, substance use, and self-harm.
