Am I damaged?
Am I flawed?
Is it inside?
Or out?

Am I defective?
Am I crippled?
Is it my fault?
Or not?

What’s wrong?
They tell me I’m different.
Is that bad?
Sounds bad.

She tells me I’m fine.
They tell me I’m not.
She tells me they’re crazy.
They tell me they’re not.

She says I’m still me.
Says we’re the same.
Am I different?
What’s the truth?

They call me damaged.
They call her pure.
I saw the proof.
She says it’s fake.

She says it doesn’t change anything.
She still loves me.
But it feels wrong.
But I still love her.

But how could she love me?
How could you love a broken toy?
It has no use,
It has no soul.

Am I broken?
Or am I Whole?