Broken toys, some of us are.
Damaged bodies, riddled with scars.
Caught forever in between
A normal life, and something obscene.
Atrophied legs, unwholesome parts,
Distract from the beauty of our hearts.
But who cares about that anyway?
Life is a game, we are forced to play.
It doesn’t give the broken a break.
It doesn’t care that it made a mistake.
It makes some perfect I suppose
To rub it in the cripples’ nose.
You’ll never be beautiful
Never be free
To be what others can easily be.
But I have a secret that life doesn’t know.
My brokenness has helped me grow.
Strong enough to overcome
The tormenting parts of life for some.
Some like me who wake in pain.
Who fight each day to simply remain
Some form of life in this glamorous place.
Where precious treasure is a pretty face.
I’m stronger now, as time will tell.
Strength was forged in the flames of hell.
I’ll never be like all the rest,
But I can still be my broken best.
(p.s. I always miss you.)