Bent

Someone once told me

I was damaged goods.

That I was broken,

And could not be mended.

Someone once told me

It was really no wonder

That no one loved me

...and I agreed with them.

For days my mind stuck

To that single thought

Contemplated what they meant

By "damaged goods."

I knew I was broken

And battered from emotions,

Vandalized by pain,

Sometimes dead on the inside.

But only sometimes.

Only every so often

Was I truly dead inside.

And then I realized it.

I wasn't broken.

Nor was I unmendable.

Or unloved.

They were wrong.

Because I am not broken.

I am bent.

And anything that is bent

Can be straightened with care.