I haven’t written poetry in over 8 years (it will be very obvious soon) but I was inspired by the Asian American Writer’s Workshop’s open mic I attended last week. I signed up to perform in a last minute decision that left me completely paralyzed until my turn and then completely relieved after. I read “Daddy’s Girl,” a deeply personal post about my feelings surrounding Father’s Day. I ended up writing a poem in that same vain that I also wanted to share. I think it’s the beginning of something and also the end of something else.
When I was 6, my father broke my mother’s arm.
And with that same swift blow, he broke me.
Left me shattered.
Left me to piece those fragments together for the next 20 years.
When you crack bone,
After it’s healed,
It leaves behind a mark,
A sign in bold: “This person has been broken.”
X-ray me, what signs will you see?
What healed fractures, stitched up tears, new tissue will you see?
To mend these wounds.
The Red Hot Chili Peppers say “Lick my heart/Taste my health”
What does mine taste like?
But tinged with something bitter, sour, burnt.
Chris Cleave says “Scars do not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.”
I have put the shards back together
Cut myself up on those sharp and spiky edges
Glued them with
I have survived.
There are signs all over me
Marking where I grew,
Here, I flourished,
There, I persevered.
I am alive.