Broken is an uncertain word, its definition too vague for me to comprehend
I often wonder what it really means
And I think I have met the undefined standards
Of broken
At darker times in my life, when tears carved riverbeds in the dirt on
My cheeks
When my heart ached and I longed for
Hope to wash over me,
As the sun rose in fiery watercolors the next morning

If I have felt broken,
Does it mean I am damaged beyond repair?
Will I always be missing a vital part, never completely and flawlessly functional?
Or can I be mended, my gaping wounds stitched back together,
Can the worn blocks that build me be realigned after they have fallen and scattered?
And, whom, I wonder, is the master repairman that possesses such knowledge,
And how did they acquire the troubleshooting guide for my very soul?

But most of all, I wonder,
Is it me?
Do I have to teach myself how to smile and sing once more?
How to walk with my head up, to stride with confidence?
And will I always have the strength, to do so without assistance?
And lastly, if I am not strong enough, who will be there to provide the toolkit to put me back together again?