Opal

I’m a little bit broken, starlight sparkle when the light catches,

reflecting back in bits and patches, I’m a little bit broken.

I’m internally shifted, contorted, and aberrant,

enough to affect my market value when cis guys come shopping:

if you’re buying crystal clear, shop on, because I tend to shine.

Every piece of me, even the broken shit, is mine.

I’m a little bit broken, over-sugared-coffee-breath depression.

Anxiety struck lightning glass, pain induced angry bitch.

My insides are nebulae. I give birth to stars.

I bleed daily, and where the drops fall scriptures grow like weeds.

I’m a little bit broken, plural brained, blood stained,

bruise maned, fist trained, and queer who gets up anyway,

and ask to know who the fuck you think you might be,

to think you have the right to fix me.

-o0o-