I am made of sticks and stones.
I rebuilt myself from those
Strewn about the kitchen floor,
Remnants of your drunken tirades.
My bones felt hollow
When I learned that yours
Were made from cancer.
I collected the shattered remnants of my family.
Glued them together with
My creations came undone
Once they learned to stand for themselves.
I come home at night
To a man who loves me,
A man who still misses me when I'm gone
After two years of seeing each other nearly every day,
And I wonder
“Would my mother see this and feel happily for me,
Or think of how you
of this chance—
I am made of moss and lichen.
My roots run shallow,
But spread far and wide.
I breathe through the rain,
And reach outward in an attempt to ground myself,
To find an unbroken place that I can call “home.”
In the process
I find my boundaries expanding,
My limits stretching and disappearing
With each new growth.
I worry that, one day, I’ll end up
I worry that, one day, my lover
Will look into my eyes
And feel fear,
Over the man he once thought he could fix with love.
But I need no fixing:
There are worse things than being broken,
And few things better than
And I have been rebuilt
And tears and rain and wine and whiskey and a thousand wet kisses and ten thousand warm hugs.
And I have learned to stand