Shattered.
     I collect all the broken bits
     lay them out before me
     on a bed of calendula
     caressing each part – 
          some rough,
               some sharp.

     Gently arranging
     the fragile shards
     until it resembles
     the shape of my heart
     once more.

I’ve been here before.

     Old scars glimmer golden,
     accenting healed cracks – 
     memories of damage
     that resilience recast.

Gilded.
     I search for my brush,
     douse it in fresh paint,
     and line the edges
     where the pieces meet – 
          some jagged,
               some neat.
     Brilliantly veiled in gold,
     but fully bittersweet.
     The art of repair
     in each heartbeat – 
          some pleasant,
               some sore.

It’s quite stunning
     what the heart can endure.

Inspired by Kintsugi. There is beauty in the broken. But the beauty is in the repair, not in staying broken. I’ve loved this concept since I first came upon it in my late teens to early twenties.

Formatting preservation efforts below.