A chair once sturdy and straight,
Now lies broken from the weight.
With flat cushions in a sorry state,
That seem to say: “I am the one that you broke”

I say that today will finally be the day
That I throw this broken chair away.
And yet it stays with me as if to say
That: “I am the one that you broke”

So why should I just let it be?
It doesn’t mean a thing to me.
When it speaks its plea, I can’t agree,
That: “I am the one that you broke.”

But what would I put in the empty space?
And there’s a fact that’s hard to face:
That I’m comfortable with it in this place,
As it says: “I am the one that you broke”

And so it continues to provoke.
Uncomfortable feelings that it awoke.
I don’t want to hear the words you spoke,
Whispering: “I am the one that you broke”

This poem is about a person looking a broken thing they relied on and deciding whether the inconvenience of its presence is worse than the guilt of throwing it away, as it confronts the speaker, pleading: But I did not break myself.