Becoming A Wom A Poem Analysis

I'm by all account not the only child who grew up like this

encompassed by individuals who used to say that rhyme

About sticks and stones

As though broken bones hurt more than the names that we got called and we got called every one of them

So we grew up trusting nobody would ever see us as the only star in the sky

What's more, we'd feel as if we would be isolated until the end of time

That we'd never meet somebody who'd make us feel like the sun was their gift to us: something they created from their bare hands using nothing but their toolbox.

Bent, broken heart strings irritated us from deep within our hearts

Don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone

That an ingrown life is something surgeons can just pluck out

that