fixing the faults. (a poem)

the first time something breaks,
pull out the superglue, the tape, the staples
whatever works, whatever works, whatever works.

repeat. ad nauseam.
until the layers of adhesive start to crumble under their own weight
until the bottles are empty and the dispensers spin useless.

eventually (whenever you choose to face it)
you have a decision to make.
you can toss it away
(the broken heart, the splintered trust,
headphones with frayed wires
the shirt you swore you’d stitch
the wound-down watch.)

or you can deconstruct it. peel away
the layers of foam, rubber, cloth, felt
expose the skeleton underneath
the beating heart, the splintered bone
the wires, the blood, the neurons firing
lay it out like a map or a puzzle
you can’t fix a problem that you can’t see.

(just because you can see it, of course
doesn’t mean there’s anything that can be done
sometimes you need it stretched in front of you
wreckage assembled within chalk outlines
to find it within you, finally, to mourn what’s been lost.)

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