Rachel Vernon Poet Spoken Word

Broken

I think I’m broken—
not shattered,
just cracked in quiet places
where no one can see.

I keep trying,
God, I keep trying.
I swear I thought I was doing better.
I put on my brave face,
my “I’m fine” smile,
my “everything’s okay” voice—
but it slips.
It always slips.

Maybe I’ll go back to therapy,
let someone dig through the rubble
and name the pieces of me
I’ve been too afraid to touch.

He’s tired of me—
I feel it.
He doesn’t have to say it.
It’s in the sigh before he speaks,
the silence after.
It’s in the way his eyes
look through me now,
like he’s searching for the girl
he used to recognize.

He says I make him feel heavy
when he’s just trying to help.
And I know he’s right.
I know.
But I don’t want to be a weight anymore.
I don’t want to be the reason
his shoulders sag.

I can handle anyone else being mad at me—
anyone but him.
Because when he turns away,
the whole world goes quiet.

So I’ll keep my distance.
I’ll learn to swallow the ache
before it spills out of me.
I’ll try to stay soft,
stay light,
stay good.

I’ll try to always, always, always
be in a good mood.

Even if it kills the parts of me
that still remember how to feel.

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