My mother tells me I'm not broken.
She tells me I'm whole and perfect
And that she loves me.
I stopped arguing a long time ago
Because there's no way to tell her
How the pieces of broken glass inside of me
Collide sometimes, like storm-stirred
Oceans and barges, how it sinks ships
And shreds lips. There's no way to tell her
How my thoughts slide against each other
The way a serrated knife slides so easily
Against the skin. I can't tell her how my
Hands shake when I think of all the ones
That left me so easily. I can't tell her how
The coldness settles in my bones when
I miss them, no matter how hard I try
to forget them. I can't tell her about the headaches,
The ones that radiate through my jaw
Because I clenched my teeth all day to
Hold in the screams of frustration.
The headache from all the screaming
I do in my head because I don't know
How to breathe, how to speak, how to
Describe all the ways I feel broken.
How I look in the mirror and I see
The outlines of a thousand piece puzzle
Drawn all over my body and the pieces
That are missing, the pieces that they took
When they left me without looking back.
The bite in my belly when they say
"I'll call you." Half because I know they won't,
Half because I desperately hope they will.
My mother doesn't see the puzzles,
The broken glass, the bleeding lips when
She looks at me - she's so desperate to believe
That all the time she spent trying to put me together,
To make sure I was a real girl, a perfect picture,
Was worth the effort. And I'm so sorry, mommy.
I'm sorry it wasn't.