When I was three
I broke my arm
And now my elbow clicks
When I reach to hold your hand
And my fingers curl between the empty space.

When I was eight
I broke my leg
And now it aches
As I pace around this empty apartment
Waiting for you to come back.

When I was sixteen
I broke some hearts
And now at twenty-three
I broke mine too
When I told you I had stopped loving you.

Now I sit
Broken
And waiting
For someone to fix me
Because all I’m good at is breaking things.