I’ll Take “Things That Can't Be Ruined” for One Thousand

 

Someone once told me I was broken,

but doesn’t everybody need a break?

 

Happily-ever-afters depend on spells

broken by handsome prince kisses.

 

We break chocolate bars into squares

momentary shares of melting sweetness

 

I felt warm water rush from my body,

broken like a dam before my son arrived.

 

He’s alive because something in me
broke open to release him head first

 

into a world where he’ll break patterns
of men ashamed to speak with softness.

 

See, I break silences like an Olympian
breaks records. Gold medal me please.

 

Codes were designed to be deciphered,
broken by mathematicians stopping wars

 

like referees breaking apart brutal boxers
before blood pours into puddles onto mats.

 

What matters most is breaking falls,
saving skin and bones from concrete.

 

Blockbusters break box office records
when actors crack hearts into halves.

 

Having a bad day sometimes just means
sunrays haven’t broken through clouds.

 

Only broken horses know to run, escape
reins, thrust lustrous manes into the wind.

 

 

Artists use the golden repair of kintsugi to heal
breakage, turn tragic cracks into rich history.

 

In the future, don’t ever circuit break me,
just measure my currents by testing my will

 

against yours when you break open my body,
a pomegranate packed with rubies shimmering

 

                        from a place where I will never be less than whole.