Whole.
Not fixed up.
Not repaired.
Whole.
Not bandaged up.
Not glued back together.
Whole.
Not broken.
Not smashed.
Whole.
Not cracked.
Not damaged.
Whole.
Not depraved.
Not lost.
Whole.
How many times do I have to say it
before I believe it?
How many times do I have to think it
before it’s true?
Filed under: Poetry
