Jun 25


She’s not breaking.

They used to whisper about her.
About how there were little cracks around
her face, and arms.
She didn’t mind that much,
she just turned her head so that
her face was half hidden.

They couldn’t look her in the eye.
They avoided her too, like her breaking might
start to crack their own bodies.

When the cracks crawled up her legs,
and up her chest.
They started to forget to whisper.
They looked at her skin, and they talked
about the way that it was, different...

When the cracks grew longer,
people started to look at her as the girl
with the breaking body.
They didn’t bother to learn her name,
What was the point? If she was crumbling.

When the cracks opened,
people did something worse than whispering,
or avoiding her,
They ignored her, they placed her in the background.
Classified her as a thing, too fragile to be a person.

When she broke,
Her pieces hurtled into people,
catching them with the
suddenness of her brokenness.
The people who had been waiting for
her to break,
were the most surprised by the power of

When she was gone,
people pretended to care,
as if it was not them who had
whispered, or talked.

When she was gone.
She was finally there.

She’s not broken.
She’s not broken.