Broken

Trying to explain being broken without the painful memories flooding back

Broken

I can't tell you I'm broken without the memories waking, without my chest remembering the exact weight of collapse.

Every crack has a timestamp, every scar knows its origin.

They don't fade when I speak them- they rise, vivid and aching, like grief with a pulse.

I learned how to shatter quietly, how to smile through fractures, how to carry ruin as if it were grace.

So when I say I'm broken, know it isn't a metaphor.

It's a door I hesitate to open, because behind it

I am still there- feeling everything for the first time again.