Why would you want a broken child like me?

Foreword / Introduction

This poem speaks where I cannot. It’s part of my series sharing my raw feelings about foster care and adoption. To my adoptive parents: I mean no offense—I respect you deeply. But these are my unfiltered truths.

Poem: Why would you want a broken child like me? [Confessional poetry]

I’m not like the kids in stories,
whole and shiny from the start.
I came with cracks you can’t ignore—
a jigsaw missing half its parts.

They packed me up from house to house,
a suitcase tossed from door to door.
Each “home” just meant new hands to please,
new rules to learn, new locks to check.
(Why’d they hurt me? Why’d they leave?
My thoughts screamed loud but stayed inside.)

Then you walked in, all steady eyes,
and chose the shelf with broken things.
I wait for you to see the mess—
the rattles when I move too quick,
the way I flinch at raised hands,
the nightmares sticky-like old glue.

What if I shatter in your hold?
What if my jagged edges cut?
You say “forever,” but I know
how promises turn into ghosts.
…so why’d you pick the fractured one
when whole ones gleam down every aisle?

I’m not a fixer-upper project.
I’m not a “rescue.” Just a kid
who wonders why you’d want the pieces
everyone else returned.