Broken Woman

(Homage to *Phenomenal Woman* by Maya Angelou)

Broken Woman

(Inspired by Maya Angelou’s Phenomenal Woman)

I usta be a work of art—

yoga, splits, easy grace.

Now the tissue’s pulled too far,

a rubber band lost shape.

Joints wrapped like fragile gifts,

made of glass and lace,

my scars, silver constellations

I never wished to wear.

—I am broken, yet I rise.

Broken, yet I burn.

I am broken—sure, I cry.

—Broken Woman, that’s me.

______

I disappoint my lover

when I cancel date night again,

sickness is the bane of all our plans.

I skip showers, workouts,

coffee dates and calls.

Whole days slashed by fatigue—

a thief that robs them all.

Prescriptions line the counter like soldiers,

marching in with their side effects.

The cost is steep, too unspoken,

the tally too complex.

Illness makes choices for me,

trading joy for survival,

trading touch for sleep,

dreams held in denial.

But still I slay goddamn dragons

from my bed, armored in pain,

swinging through fire

with nothing but will to sustain.

—I am broken, yet I rise.

Broken, yet I burn.

I am broken—hell yes, I cry.

Broken Woman, that’s me.

⸻

I’ve been called fragile,

as if fragile means weak.

But I fight battles constantly,

in wars no one else can see.

I walk with limp and cane,

my swollen hands, the brace I wear.

Still, I see the empire I will build

(if illness ever spares).

An old friend once said, “you used to be so pretty,”

like pity could be kind.

But I am still beautiful, still powerful,

my dreams blaze on—never confined.

Scar tissue is my armor,

I wear it unashamed.

I don’t mind disability—

but I like to call myself reframed.

—I am broken, yet I rise.

Broken, yet I burn.

I am broken, sometimes, I cry.

Broken Woman, hell yes, that’s me.

⸻

RCSS

D 3.9