Broken Remains

You ask why I carry myself

Like an apology 

Talk like a suggestion

Walk like a question

I don't quite remember how it happened

If it was one big happening or a thousand little ones

But from a young age, I had something

Taken, no. Stolen from me

I can't say what it was specifically

Maybe my voice to speak, maybe my joy to sing

Something crucial was missing, a hole within

I am layers of tired, trying to keep it hidden 

For it is ugly, unsettling to see.

However, some light : it's a bit freeing admitting I am in bone deep agony 

Not sad not depressed 

Just LESS than what I should be. 

The broken remains of a girl of age

nine and sixteen, hiding inside me

Decay hovering about me like an odour

I've treated God like a deodorant stick...to be applied once a day 

But I cannot rid the stench of this pain, 
it lingers 

It coats my fingers like a stain

I went about healing wrong. It is not song nor 

magical moment nor buzz in the air. 

Little to do with feeling good 

Simply, work that needs to be done

Doing what needs doing

It's not meant to be fun or comfortable

(check) 

It won't look desirable

(check) 

All evidence considered,

I suppose I am right on schedule.