Tattered Doll

I am dazed. Take it from me; a tornado has no mercy when it kills you. I was killed by fierce wind and lived to tell the tale. The remnants of a monster lay strewn across three states, thankfully. I was ripped to pieces, and when the dust settled I was able to examine each part of me that I could find.

I found my heart in Nevada. It was black, hard, and cold. It was torn to pieces. Not by the wind, but by the person that held it before tragedy. It was beating but barely.

I found my head in Colorado. My head holds my mind, but for some reason even THAT was lost somewhere in the clouds. My head tells me that it was in cahoots with my heart. They worked in unison to destroy my body. They succeeded, but to what avail? In the process, head and heart are lying in the woodsy state where they fell.

I found my hands in Southern California. They were not calloused or bloodied. They were not calloused and bloodied because they functioned improperly. They did not hold, they did not work, and they did not love correctly. They established a relationship with the pockets in my jeans and they slept tucked away from responsibility.

I gathered all of the pieces that I could find and bought some glue, nails, and duct tape. I took my heart and wiped away the Nevada sand. I gave it to God and he dusted off the black. He cupped it in his hands and made it warm, which in turn softened it to factory texture. Then he blew into one of the valves and it pumped with rapid new life. I placed the heart into the hole in my chest and covered the hole with duct tape.

I took my head and placed it on my neck. I fastened it securely with nails. I called a conference and asked mind and heart to attend. The two were able to come to a truce and now work in unison to achieve a common goal. My mouth is now able to talk. My mouth can smile for no reason. My eyes are no longer cast to the ground. They look straight ahead. My eyes shine the color blue proudly. Apparently, everything is in working order now. And I believe my head! For the first time in a little over a year, I actually believe my head!

I took my hands and glued them to my wrists. If I could do it with glue and no experience, why can't doctors do it with surgical tools and experience? My hands hate my pockets now. They want to hold, feel, rise to the sky, and they want to love. Never again will they be idle.

The monster is gone. He existed, but has been destroyed. He isn't hiding in the closet or under my bed. He doesn't control my mind or actions any longer. In its place stands a new, old man. I am tattered, a little wrinkled, and a little tired, but I am overjoyed because I live. And I have so much to live for….