The Breaking and Becoming
One day,
sorting through the bits and pieces,
trying to hold life together,
the phone rings,
and my world,
shatters.
They say it straight,
her and him,
the right-hand man,
and the shadows of others,
all laced with whispered lies.
They deny, deny,
while I unravel,
picking through truths that cut like glass.
I stop the pills,
let the bottle spill,
the powder clouds,
fury roars through veins,
breaking walls that used to hold me,
losing my mind like it’s sand through fingers,
and I’m too tired to hold on.
Then the dark night,
the crash, the homeless night in the cold.
My car, the crypt,
among the lost,
who lean on walls,
who drink through pain and look to nothing.
Prayers spill, silent, to a God I hope is listening,
me and my mother, on our knees at dawn,
counting beads and breaths,
finding faith between ruins.
I rise to a house share,
then a boxing gym.
Teaching the young how to punch back at the world.
My bruised soul finds meaning in strength,
muscle by muscle, punch by punch,
I build a body that won’t be broken.
And the victories come, small, then faster,
someone I train wins his fight in 26 seconds,
and I watch, fists clenched,
feeling the power of persistence,
the burn of hope.
She passes her test, says she’s innocent,
but I know too well the ghosts don’t rest.
They whisper still, in every silent room,
leaving my heart a land salted, barren,
where trust struggles to bloom.
So I walk forward,
piece by piece,
holding tight to the weight of my bones,
knowing that I’m still here, still standing,
the breaking, the healing,
the better man
that I am yet to become.
