Broken Things

I’ve always been attracted to broken things. Broken people. Broken animals. I like broken things.

Broken things are attractive. They stand out among the crowd. They’re different, like me.

I notice the sadness – the smile that just doesn’t reach the eyes. I notice the scars. I notice them, because I wear them too.

I like the broken things. I like how they feel. When I hug them, I can feel the broken pieces.

There are broken pieces inside of us. The damage done by years of misuse. I see those in you too.

Here we are, the same place at the same time, looking at the image of each other. You can see the brokenness of me too.

I like the broken things. Not because I can fix them, because no one can do that. But because they like me too.

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About Preslee

I am diagnosed with Bipolar 2 Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Panic and Anxiety disorders, and PTSD. I write about my own personal experiences and thoughts.

Posted on January 20, 2016, in Life, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

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