What makes me broken?

Is it that I am unlike you?

Or is it that I am like you?

If being broken means nothing more then fixing.

Does that mean I can be fixed too?

Will you fix me?

Or should I remain broken?

My heart burns.

My stomach chruns.

My head aches.

Am I broken no matter what truth is left to find.

I must be broken.

I can't be right.

I desire something that isn't right.

I breath something that makes me different.

I am something different.

I am me.

Not broken.

Not something that should change.

To be fixed is to be fake.

So I choose to be broken.

As my fate.