Even her loose ends are frayed.

Splintered,

unravelled,

messy –

real.

She’s finally discarded the cape

that gave her missions impetus,

along with her illusions

of  being able to save anyone but herself.

She walks with a limp,

but the scars scab over

now that they are allowed air.

Her gait,

like the end of her rope,

is damaged –

but a new authenticity lends

dignity to torn edges,

beauty to fragmented spirit.

She owns not just her strengths

but her brokenness;

its tangles are a net

spread over troubles seas,

catching unexpected graces

too numerous and astounding to be named or counted.

Chaos has lent her courage,

counted her among the genuine,

labelled her approachable,

and that makes her

a Superhero.