Broken

I was taught that people care for the most valuable or the most broken.
I wanted to be cared for so I made a choice to be always on the brink

of extinction.

I learned that sharing my happiness did not raise the ratings,
that the viewers were unloyal to the content they knew and loved,
that slowly there was no prime time.

The alternative was to be priceless.

To be worth more than you could see, count, or ever let go of.
But it’s impossible to be priceless, to be so so so much,
when you don’t even feel like just enough.

The alternative to THAT is to let go of the need to be cared for.
To admit that there is no one who can do that but ME.
Because only I can see the micro fractures,
the fragile structure waiting to crumble,
I know where the ice is thin,
where the rage is tepid,
where the foundation of bones has regrown stronger  from so many clumsy falls.

Nobody cares for a broken person.
Just buy a new one, say the capitalists.
Make sure she goes in the green bin, say the environmentalists.
Make sure she doesn’t ask questions, say the politicians.
She was crazy, say your friends.
She was poor, say your fathers.
Piss poor cook, say your mothers.
She was too young, say the morticians.
Agreed, say the psychologists.
And the psychiatrists chime in that, it’s a shame someone so young should see their worth wither so.
Or was it the economists?
Supply exceeds demand. Lower prices, approach $0.
Maybe we can break even. The cost was much more than we suspected.
Sell add-ons, say the entrepreneurs. Make-up, clothing, Bachelors degree.
Raise the minimum wage, you say?
Then we must drop the price more to raise demand!
The people say, but how will anyone demand something they can’t afford? Or why will anyone want something worth nothing at all?

-Melisa Im

Sometimes entropy must be combatted with creativity.

[Image: “Money” protected by a Creative Commons license belonging to Tax Credits]