I was once in a workshop about broken people like me.
The grief counsellor said:
My story is my story.
And your story is your story.
And it is okay for them to be different.
People clutch their stories tightly, with white-knuckled hands.
Like purses stuffed with money in a late alley.
For instance, I have been told I should stay in my lane at all times.
Behave and be good. Do not be angry. Stay the rigid course.
And most of all be small in all ways.
If I step out of line, this rattles those who think they own the one story of me.
After I veer into my own way
Their horns honk loudly before they slowly fade away.