CRACK ME OPEN

My brother’s death cracked me open.

Split my sternum right in two.

I’d say I had no choice,

but that’s just not the truth.

I had to fight instincts taught;

that voice that tried to rule me,

each step of the way:

Accept their plan with meekness.

Tell them what they want to hear.

Don’t follow your heart—

you’ll wound their fragile peace.

I was told to cover

what I did not choose.

Still,

I raised my voice.

I just refused.

My brother in his graphic tees

would roll his eyes so loud,

long sigh—exasperation,

truth required no uniform.

Hand on his knee,

Leaning back to laugh—

Steady,

Unafraid to stand alone.

That hurt them.

I see that now.

It taught me.

My brother’s death cracked me open

like sequoia seeds in fire:

burn red-hot,

pop then crack,

life revealed beneath the char.

It’s not all death and destruction.

There is life inside me, too.

And loss, and ache, and darkest night—

one cannot exist without the other.

Roots grow deepest

in burned ground.

Death cracked me open—

I will not close again.

I mark my chest with ash and soil.

I refuse the platitudes:

Meaning assigned

before grief has spoken.

Regurgitated,

never cultivated.

Crack me open

that I might bleed,

and breathe,

and doubt,

and hope—

and commune

with the dead.

I claim my truth

above convention.

This is my one true heart.

Broken open,

Awake.

And I would not have it

any other way.

© 2026 Carla Tanguay White