fracture

In mid-November, 2025, I broke my left foot. I don’t suggest it.

I felt the crack before I heard it break
like something holy giving way.
Bone surrendering to the pressure,
the same way people break on the inside
When they pretend they’re okay.

They say healing starts with silence,
But mine started with a bang
a sharp reminder I’m not stronger
than the weight of broken pain.

But the truth is in the fracture
in the splintered, jagged line.
Sometimes things must fall apart
before they can realign.

So I’ll wear this break like a witness,
let the ache do what it must.
’Cause every bone that learns to mend
teaches the spirit how to trust.

And when the boot came off,
and I stood up straight again,
I’ll remember:
even shattered things
can find their strength
and live.