This body you see is not me. I live without and within. I am bigger than these breasts, these toes, these eyes. And I am not broken.
When I am able to just be, I shine with effortless ease. When I am in fear, I shut down, stutter and retreat. I become like a roller coaster: up and then down, up and then down. But I am not broken.
These things I say are not me. They are a snapshot of this place and time. I am larger than these words, these shrugs and these sighs. And I am not broken.
When I surrender to that which must be expressed, I raise the roof off this place! When I shout in fear, I offend, I scare and I sadden. I am unpredictable, like the weather. First a shower and then a rainbow; first the calm and then the storm. But I am not broken.
I am spirit, kindness and compassion. I am the forgiver and the forgiven. I am the lover and the loved. This work we do reveals the truth: that we are not broken.