Broken Things

If I’m attracted to a woman, chances are she’s a dancer

And moves with a studied grace, owns a dog,

Struggles with some sort of eating disorder, is a smoker

Or has been raped at least once in her life

I’ve spent a lifetime telling myself this does not make me ugly

But a lover of beautiful, broken things

Be they a little dangerous, or just lonely

Needless to say, any combination and I am likely to

Fall in love, heart under heels

Which means I fall in love a lot

Such combination being as likely as they are tragic

As common as the bent and broken spokes on rainy days

Of all the blown out umbrellas, abandoned in the trash

Because they cause each other

The dancer smokes to keep from eating

Or studies and covets her dog’s sheer love of movement

Lies with him at night, and whispers

“I will die before I let anyone hurt you again”