Crying, by Stephanie Flade

When I was young people were always
mad and yelling, sometimes even throwing
pots and pans at each other. 
It made me cry.

They apologized and everything would be ok ,
but not really ok, because nothing is ever really ok, is it ?
We think we are ok but we are all a tiny bit damaged.
I ponder my damage, the damage done to me. 
And I cry a little more .

Am I damaged?

A crushed box, a torn sweater, a broken mug.
Those things are damaged.
​They can be put back together and used again and again. 
Can I? 
Was I? 

What am I if not damaged? 
Is the opposite intact? 
Healthy? 
Unbroken?
Might I be one of those?
 
I am damaged. 
Crushed. 
Torn. 
Broken. 
Put back together . 

Used. 
Used. 
Used. 
Again 
and again 
and again. 
Crying.

I was little.  

I was mad. 

I was yelling. 

I am crying.

Stephanie Flade is a mother, teacher, child advocate, and poet. She has worked in the education field since 2008, and is currently in the process of obtaining her principal endorsement. Her poems have appeared in The Smell of the Light Blue House in Summertime (2021) and Menthol (2022). In her free time, you can find Stephanie at home on her couch, with a warm cuppa and her Kindle in hand. She lives with her husband in the northern suburbs of Chicago.