I wish I didn’t care.  
I wish I didn’t care so much.  
I wish I didn’t care at all.  

I wish  
I wish for too many things.  
Is it because I wish too much?  
Or because I care too much,  
Feel too much,  
Fall too much?  

Am I wrong for that?  
Was my mold broken  
When they were making me?  
Or am I just broken?  

Maybe I wasn’t meant to fit,  
Wasn’t meant to bend or blend.  
Maybe I was made to feel it all—  
Every edge, every crack,  
Every shattering,  
Every stitch pulling me back.  

If my mold was broken,  
Then I’m not a mistake.  
I’m just something  
The world wasn’t ready to make.