Trauma Shuffle

when I was born my mother ripped off my leg

she’d throw it at me as I tried to hobble around

(I guess I always thought that was normal?)

one day I recovered my leg

in self-defense I hurled back at her

but I couldn’t find any solace in that

so I tried to duct tape it back on,

an attempt to stand for the first time,

but she always knocked me back down

one day I left her home

with a backpack full of rocks

and I ran into the woods to climb a mountain

I found some string to stitch myself back together

(rather poorly I might add)

and progressively hobbled on

one day I found a boy who called himself a man

he had also sewn a limb back onto himself,

his mother had torn it from him so carelessly,

he was straining from the weight of his backpack

so I offered to carry it for him

even though mine was already more than I could manage

one day, as I lugged his things up the mountain for him,

he pushed me over, ripped his sewn-up leg from his body,

and chucked it at me like my mother once did,

then he tore off my arm, left it lying on the ground,

and ran away down the mountain, leaving me with both our burdens

so I sat on a log and cried for a while

I ignored the strangers that came to see what was wrong

I’d fling my severed arm at them

“Leave me alone!”

one day I saw a cabin

charcoal smoke billowed from the chimney

the person inside saw my rotting, detached limbs

they patiently cauterized my aching, bleeding stumps,

fitted me with prosthetics, and sent me back out into the woods

I was wobbly at first, tumbling downhill, tripping over rocks

one day I found my footing

it was different than walking with my inadequately stitched leg,

wasn’t what I’d expected,

but, somehow, it was better

my spring-loaded steps made craters in the ground

now I can almost see the top of the mountain

I know one day I’ll make it

no matter how many appendages get torn from my body

I will keep climbing