Over and over, I told myself
I'm afraid you're broken, my dear
So I carved the word "broken" onto my arm
And I watched it fade away
Mourning the validation it provided
Yet knowing what this means
That my skin loves me enough to heal
And does not believe I am broken
YOU ARE READING
Poems from Therapy
PoetryWritten during my experiences in hospital programs for mental health issues Some things might be triggering
