Broken

I am broken.
I am not whole.
Pieces of my being
Lie strewn on the floor.

There is no use gathering,
I know not how to mend.
Helplessness fills me.
As I worry this is my end.

I worry I'll forever be broken.
Forever in piece.
I worry I'll be unwanted.
Left alone to bleed.

So I sit there,
Staring at the shards.
Loathing everyone else whole,
Everyone else un-scarred.

I see a mirage then,
Forming in the distance.
I see it made of people.
They seem to listen.

They seem to recognize
My plea, my cry.
They seem to want to help,
The broken girl with the tears dry.

As they come closer,
I see they're not whole.
They're all made of broken pieces,
Some few, others more.

They pick up my being,
They pick it up with ease,
"You're not alone", they whisper.
"You will not cease."

They put me back together
With tenderness and warmth.
And blow a breath of purpose
To cement the new bonds.

They leave me with scars.
And help me walk free.
To help others broken.
It is now their need.

And as they recede,
I see myself once more.
I am not broken.
I am now whole.