WHOLE

To the surgeons who convinced me that in order to be “whole" I needed an expensive and painful breast reconstruction after breast cancer:

To be a "real" woman
I let them "fix" me.
I paid in blood and money — you can’t get those kind of tricks free.
Breasts took precedence over life, that was clear,
But I cried when I couldn’t find myself in the mirror.
Thought I’d be damaged unless they shaped me;
Instead of human, I became a picture to be framed, see.
Lost my core, my center, for a minute,
Before I realized my heart wasn’t in it.
I searched my mind and understood the facts — 
I never needed silicon to fill the cracks.
I only needed to be seen, heard, and loved,
To appear in true form.
Be cherished.
Be hugged.
I once thought it true that I might cry forever
But the truth is, I’m fine—no regrets whatsoever.
There’s air in my lungs and spring in my feet
A chest as flat as a highway,
A soul that’s complete.