Have you ever broken a bone?
I’ve fractured my femur, I’ve snapped both my wrists,
I’ve counted more casts than a checklist of twists.
My collarbone shattered while chasing a goose,
And I once broke three toes in a tango caboose.
My tibia trembled, my ulna went “POP!”
I once tripped on a ladder and headbutted a mop.
Dislocated a shoulder while swatting a bee—
And cracked my poor jaw eating toffee with glee.
They called me a legend, a breakage buffet,
A walking reminder to look both ways.
I somersaulted through life with zero regret,
In a world of sharp corners, I was always the threat.
I’ve slipped on wet tiles, on sidewalks and snow,
Been booted by donkeys (don’t ask—I don’t know).
My x-rays alone could fill gallery walls—
Art made of chaos, of missteps and falls.
But don’t feel too sorry, don’t pity my fate,
I’m tougher than steel and just as ornate.
You see, all those bones? Not mine, if you please—
They belonged to poor souls who defaulted on fees.
The twist, my dear friend, in this tale of groans:
I was the breaker…
I collect broken bones.
R-Rated Religion 