I am me

Shaken and broken

With the strength of a tree

And the body of a flower

Whose petals have fallen

In a “blow the man down”

…type of manner.

My mind is an attic of cobweb strings

From years of trying to be their perfect “thing”

Believing they may like me

And I would finally be enough!

If I molded so purposefully

Into their “with restrictions” kind of love…

But you see…

And listen please

I became a porcelain doll so elegant and clean

Yet never, no not once…

Were they proud of me!

My friends, it was still not enough

Because an acceptance without abundance

Is no form of love

And the lines through my face glued and replaced

…Oh from the many many nights the doll did break!

…Was too ugly for many who shunned without grace

And then…

My body like a stem

Bare, with…