Am I broken?

[PL****]

Am I broken,
or merely honed by absence?

My skin flinches before the touch.
My breath kneels before the word.

I wear silence like a collar—
tight, unquestioned,
waiting for a voice to fill it.

Do I need to be ruined
to be real?
Owned, to be whole?

I do not ask for rescue.
Only to be taken—
not gently,
but completely.

For if I am not held,
I unravel.
If I am not marked,
I disappear.

So tell me—
am I broken?
Or just waiting
for the right hands
to prove I’m not?