She contemplated waking up before the rain
In the hopes of feeling something--
Something other than dreary dreadful dread.
Maybe that sounds childish
And maybe, just maybe, that's okay.

He pointed at the curve where my mass should be.
The skinny line wherein the whole of my being should fit--
based on what a man in a lab coat said once.
He dashed a tiny spec above it, where I was.
Out of line.
Not fitting in.
Against the rules.
I counted the tiny squares that separated me from my belonging...
… one... two... three...
Three squares from worthiness.
Three squares wrong.
Three squares from deserving love.
Three squares from good enough.
I stared at that dot a man drew for me and discovered brokenness.
I was five.