Broken Things

We are broken things, carefully guarded from
breaking even more or at least from telling
the rest of the world about us.  We shout out
to anyone who will listen.  We don't give a damn
for societal expectations any longer.  We show up
at doctors' offices in our pajamas, curse loudly
in public, eat with a fork in one hand or the other
as we choose to.  We are loudly broken, irritating
things clanging noisily in the wind without shame.
We no longer give a damn about what you think.

We are broken things, carefully guarded from
the rest of the world.  We have no shame at all.
We are loudly broken and irritating to a society
which expects us to shut up, not be heard, go away.
We clatter and clang noisily about-- laughing a bit
too shrilly, cursing too boldly at nothing at everything--
and we don't give a damn what you think about us.
We don't even regard what the doctors say in their
irritation while the good nurses wait at their sides
to write down every sainted word.  We are broken.  

We are broken things, carefully guarded from
anyone who will listen.  We are shrill and shameless
and irritating in our too loud pajamas and bold stares.
When we hurt, we yell and cry and stomp about
in our heavy dyke boots.  When we are happy,
our voices become piercing trumpets.  When we
are having sex, the world knows it.  We are apart
from the society which would just as soon forget us.
We are a part of a society that shuns us.  We are
broken, we are different, we are and remain just us.    


~ sapphoq healing tbi