He said she’d changed him,
reformed his spine.
Snapped each vertebrae to suit herself
and left him hunched
over what remained of his heart.
The next came with healing hand,
or so she thought
when she tried to gouge out the broken
and cover the cracks
with masking tape and flesh tone plasters.
The last stamped, kicked and flew in.
Tested the breaks,
how much she could ask,
what he would give,
never demanded scars be explained.
“We all are damaged,” she said,
“We all bear marks.
What counts is the follow up,
if you’re one to fall
or build something stronger with another.”