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.”