You say

I can be fixed.

Like I'm an

Object, 

Or a 

Problem

That can't stay the way it is. 

 

You say 

I can be fixed.

Like a

Broken bone

Or a 

Flat tire. 

As if one day,

I would wake up

And forget about 

All of my 

Imperfections.

 

How long 

Will it take you to 

Realize, 

My desire to die

Cannot be put 

In a cast

And told to wait 6 weeks

And I'll be as 

Good as new?

 

All of the doctors,

The therapists, 

The psychiatrists, 

The nurses. 

You think they can

Fix me, 

But all of it, 

All of them,

Are slowly 

Tearing me 

Apart. 

 

How long

Will it take you to 

Realize, 

I am not something to be 

Fixed?

 

I am like a rose, 

Slowly dying.

And as the petals fall,

Everyone around me will do 

Anything to keep me 

Alive. 

 

They try to glue me 

Together

As if I was an

Arts and crafts project. 

 

How long 

Will it take them to 

Realize, 

I know I am 

Broken, 

But I do not need to be 

Fixed?