Broken: The Essay

Do you know how to hold a broken woman?
How to mend her and hold her together? How to touch her in ways that wouldn’t remind her of the pain she had to sustain? Do you know how to erase the traces of her yesterdays?
See me, I’m tired of being broken. It seems like every time I think I have a winning hand and lay my cards on the table I still end up getting beat out. Every time I try to completely give myself to some one I always come back to me in pieces. You see the thing that hurts the most about being broken isn’t the actual act of it happening, it’s watching how you tend to misplace the pieces to who you use to be. Looking at yourself in the mirror and seeing a puzzle with fading parts or empty spots that you will never be able to fix. My maintenance is high, not because I’m materialistic, but because I’m use to being hurt, use to my heart pumping out the same saturnine melody. Simple things tend to trigger flash back of me being stabbed in the back, and sometimes I don’t even feel like bouncing back. Damn I wish life came with a re-do button, cause sometime your heart isn’t just broken by your lover, it can be broken by some one that you might consider a parental type, or brother, or even some one you might consider a sister. Funny how we tend to give these tittles to people that could be our worse enemy’s idol. So called friends have told me that if I ever wanted anything it was mine, but all I really want is for someone to remove this dagger from my spine. It keeps getting pushed and twisted further into me that now it’s broke through my soul and has left deep wounds on this ticking thing that I carry in my left breast. I’m shattered.
And I know you’re wondering how I got broken, or why I chose to write this paper on this subject matter. But all that right there, doesn’t really matter. And I know inquiring minds like to know, but sharing is caring, and frankly I stop caring a long ass time ago. All you need to know is that I’m cold, tired, and my tank is running on E, so I’m sorry if you have every thought that I was being a bit of a bitch to you but like I said , simple things make me feel like I’m in a reenactment of my past. Some people tend to think I’m a bit unstable, chemically unbalanced, or crazy whatever the hell they chose to call me. Others might view me as the silent type, stuck up, or cocky. These things that they see are true to some extent. I am unstable, cause every time I think I’ve found my stability it betrays me. And I am silent, simple because I chose to watch people and let their action speak for them. Let them subconsciously tell me every thing I need to know before they get a chance to lie to me. Now as for cocky, sometime the faded puzzle piece that is my confidence tends to regain a little color. Sometimes I think that I can rebuild myself, but then I realize I can’t build a house on a cracked foundation, even if it is empty.
Really, I just one person that I can trust. A friend or something more, I don’t care, I just need one. Or better yet both wrapped in one, someone that I don’t have to teach how to love me. Someone that I don’t have to explain my trust issues to. Someone that can make me feel whole again, someone that can rebuild me. Damn if I don’t just want somebody that already knows how to hold me. But does anyone know how to hold a broken woman? How to mend her and hold her together? How to touch her in ways that wouldn’t remind her of the pain she had to sustain? Does anyone how to erase the traces of her yesterdays?
I guess I’m just going to have to deal with being beautifully broken beyond beneficent rehabilitation, reconstruction, or reincarnation. Rebirth initializing in
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